


The Unmistakable Fire

by AuburnRed



Category: Creed II, Rocky IV, Rocky Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Suicide, Boxing, Child Abuse, Concealing and Revealing Emotions, Divorce, F/M, Family, Poverty, Russia, Single Parents, Soviet Union, Strength and weakness, Ukraine - Freeform, fathers and sons, parental abandonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-05 12:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 68,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17325284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuburnRed/pseuds/AuburnRed
Summary: Ivan Drago was never one to outwardly show emotion. That never meant that he didn't feel it. Revised with new scenes added.





	1. Alexei and Sofia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn about Ivan's childhood with his abusive father and fragile mother. How they met, married, and how the influenced their son to become the emotionless Siberian Bull that we know and....well not love but are understanding.

The Unmistakable Fire  
A Rocky IV/Creed II Fanfic  
By Auburn Red

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to Sylvester Stallone, Stephen Caple Jr. and the other talented filmmakers. I however created Sofia, Alexei, Popov, Yevgeny, Sasha, and Ayzere. The title comes from a line in the Survivor song, “Burning Heart.” (My favorite song from Rocky IV)

Author's Note: I apologize if the descriptions of Soviet and Russian politics are inaccurate. Personally, I think while some of the allegations were no doubt propaganda and exaggerated by the American press, some were also true. Just like in the United States (especially nowadays.). I am just using how they are depicted in the context and framework of the Rocky and Creed movies.  
Oh and I am not very familiar with boxing terms so I am keeping them to a minimum using well known ones like cutting, faking, knockout etc. I am more interested in the psychology of such athletes: the persistence, determination, vengeance, etc. Of those who earn a living fighting each other.

Author’s Note Update: I decided to do some new things with this fic. It’s pretty much the same but there were some headcanon ideas that I wanted to do differently and now having seen many of my favorite scenes of Creed II on Youtube and having some encouragement from my fellow Creed II fans on Youtube (like J. Rossi and Gunners 4Life 97), as well as from you wonderful readers and reviewers like EvenLynn and Queen of the Gale and the folks on AO3’s Facebook group, I have decided to go through with it.   
The first chapter has been more or less rewritten to flesh out Ivan’s parents and give them more of a backstory and to give hints of his upbringing. New scenes will be added to subsequent chapters and I will have more perspectives than just Ivan’s. Before we had some with Rocky but we will also have Sofia, Ludmilla, Sasha, Adonis, and Viktor’s pov’s as well.  
Summary: Ivan Drago was never one to outwardly show emotion but that didn't mean he didn't feel it.

I. Alexei and Sofia  
Lieutenant Alexei Ivanovich Drago was a drunk weakling. At least that's how his son Ivan always saw him. He hated his father but loved his mother.   
In fact he could never understand what she saw in him.

He was a proud member of the Soviet Army and an amateur boxer but had fallen in disgrace. All the years Ivan knew him, the old man was lost to alcohol, self-pity, rage, and hatred.  
His father was a weakling who used his anger and fists to dominate others. His mother, Sofia, was technically weak in her own way as well but in a way that made Ivan pity her rather than despise her. She was a small fair haired frail weak hearted woman as compared to her larger dark haired dominant husband.  
She had soft hands and a beautiful bird-like soprano voice that soothed her son when he couldn't sleep. When she was younger, Sofia Nikolaievna Vorobey aspired to be a singer. At 12 years old, she left her native Ukraine and the cold orphanage that she had been raised in for two years to study music so she could eventually attend the Moscow Conservatory of Music.  
She could have been a great choral or opera singer but instead fell in love with Alexei Drago, a Russian soldier, when she was sixteen and he twenty-seven.

They met after one of Alexei’s amateur matches. He left the match full of drink and laughed with his friends about Nikita Khrushchev's recent trip to America, particularly how the premiere was denied the chance to go to Disneyland for security reasons. (“Are they afraid Mickey Mouse will bite him to death?”) Of course none of them were bothered in the slightest that they weren't called to guard Khrushchev on his trip. 

“Let’s admit it, Comrades,” Alexei joked to his buddies. “The Americans would be too afraid of us! They know we could beat them.”  
Alexei's comrades laughed uproariously as Alexei took another swig of his vodka. They were about to cross the street and head for another tavern when a sound interrupted him.

Alexei faced the auditorium where he heard the sound of a woman singing. The voice was clear, high pitched, and mesmerizing. It was almost like a siren's. Alexei walked inside and approached the voice.  
He entered the auditorium where a young woman stood in the center. She was dressed like a rag doll in a white schoolgirl dress and a blue ribbon. Her blond hair ran in ringlets and her face was heavily made up.

Alexei did not know much about opera, but he thought her voice was beautiful. She was a pretty good actress too. In the song, her character occasionally stopped singing as though she were a wind up toy going silent. When she was wound back up, she gave the audience a flirtatious saucy grin as she blew a kiss to the man who wound her up.  
After the song was over, the young woman turned to an older woman who watched the performance. “How was that Madame Shirmateava?”  
Madame Shirmateava, a tall severe looking blond woman in a black dress nodded. “Better than last time, but the bridge still needs improvement.”

Alexei couldn't help but applaud. Both the young woman and her teacher looked annoyed. The older woman spoke crisply. “This auditorium is closed.”  
Alexei smiled and walked closer to the stage. “Can I help it if I am captivated by her voice?”  
The young woman blushed and smiled shyly as she walked closer to the edge. Alexei stuck out his hand as she held it. “Jr. Lieutenant Alexei Ivanovich Drago.”  
“Sofia Nikolievna Vorobey,” the girl replied.   
“Lieutenant, I insist that you leave,” Madame Shirmateava ordered.  
“Not unless I am permitted to see your student again,” Alexei said.  
Sofia blushed and absently removed her wig. The hair underneath was blond but was tied back. She turned to her singing instructor as if to ask whether it was alright. Madame Shirmateava, reluctantly nodded and rolled her eyes. “Would tomorrow suit you?” Alexei asked.  
“That would be fine,” Sofia agreed.

They dated exclusively for almost one year. They attended dances, parties, had drinks and talked. They both were orphaned at young ages and had no other family members. Sofia's parents died of a fever when she was ten. The orphanage director in Kiev heard her sing and helped get her started on her path. “Many directors are cruel,” Sofia said. “But I suppose he was kind enough to recognize something in me.” In fact it was the director who referred Sofia to Nina Shirmateava, a singing instructor in Moscow who took in the orphaned girl.  
Alexei's mother died of cancer when he was five and he barely remembered her. He was raised mostly by his father who was himself a major in the Soviet Ground Forces Army. Major Ivan Drago raised his son with the strictest discipline and to have respect for the Soviet Union. (“A Stalinist party member to the last,” Alexei said.) He taught his son to suspect others and to not trust anyone except his father and not always that. Alexei learned that lesson so well that when his father died fighting the Germans in the War, 13-year-old Alexei withdrew from life for a time but forced himself to snap out of it. “I picked myself up. Never looked back. Of course I acquired a fondness for the bottle after that but who doesn't?” 

Nina, Sofia's singing instructor, was not happy about the romance between her protégée and the soldier since she felt that Sofia was throwing away a good career for love. The orphaned Ukrainian girl was like a daughter to her and she was very shy, unworldly, and somewhat featherheaded, practically a child. “That man will break you,” Nina insisted after a substandard rehearsal where Nina accused Sofia of having her mind on something, or rather someone, else.  
Always by Nina's side was Madame Raissa Cohen, ballet instructor and Nina's closest friend. Many of their students speculated that the two women were more than friends but none ever said so to their faces. Raissa was not as domineering as her friend, often preferred to be kind when Nina was sharp. “You have so much more ahead of you,” Raissa said. “Romance will come and go but opportunities like this will only come once in a lifetime.”  
“I am doing my best,” Sofia insisted.  
“Not enough,” Nina spat. “You are missing rehearsals. Your phrasing isn't as good and your arias are not the same. The Conservatory will never accept you if you continue you as you are now! Either you end things with him or you end your career.”  
“I love Alexei,” Sofia insisted wondering what this old spinster knew about love.“Can't I have both?”  
“Nyet,” Nina insisted. “No woman is ever that fortunate! You will see. If you do not choose, the Conservatory's panel will decide for you.”

They did. At her audition, she performed Antonia's portion of the climactic battle in Tales of Hoffman. She sang the song several times but now understood the longing Antonia had caught between the man she loved and the mother (or in her case mother figure) who wanted her to sing. She never sang with such longing and sadness. By the time she finished, she was in tears.  
The judges were not moved. They insisted that while she was talented, she would not be permitted to attend the Conservatory.

To her credit, Nina Shirmateava was not smug nor did she say she told her so. Instead she walked the sobbing girl home to the rooming house for musical students. She put Sofia to bed and sat outside her room concerned about where she was headed next in her life. All those years of preparation ending in rejection. While she was still young, 17 and had many years ahead of her, Nina knew that Sofia would not see it that way. A loss was a loss. A rejection was a rejection. A defeat was a defeat and it would continue to haunt that girl for the rest of her life.  
She had seen many students fall into despair making the wrong decisions that made their lives worse losing themselves to alcohol, drugs, self pity, bad romances, and destructive behaviors that destroyed any potential that they would ever have had.

A sharp knock filled the house as Nina bade Raissa to open the door. Nina glared when Jr. Lieutenant Alexei Drago entered the room. Talking of bad decisions, she thought wryly.  
“I would like to see Sofia,” he said. Nina was about to refuse but against her better judgement, she knocked on Sofia's door. “It's Drago,” she said.  
After some hesitation, Sofia exited the room. Her eyes were red rimmed and her face was flushed. She was dressed very primly in a long black skirt and white peasant blouse, but Alexei could see the passion underneath. “I heard. Would you walk with me, Sonia?”  
“Nyet you may not,” Nina insisted.  
Sofia glared at her mentor, cold rage filled her lazy blue eyes. Who was Nina Shirmateava to tell her who she was to be with? She tried her and Raissa’s way to be a singer and it was clear that she didn't have it. Why not be like most girls and go out, fall in love, maybe get married and have children? Frankly, she was through listening to these dried up spinsters!

Sofia took Alexei's hand as they walked out. She poured out her feelings over the rejection. Alexei held her tightly. “It is for the best,” he whispered.  
“How can it be for the best?” She said.  
“Well I don't want my wife working now do I?” Alexei joked.  
It took a moment before she understood the full meaning of what he just said. Before she could react, he asked for her permission to be his wife. “We are orphans so there is no one else to ask.”

Naturally, Nina fumed when Sofia told her she was engaged. “You are a fool and a stupid girl! You are making the worst decision of your life!”  
“They rejected me!” Sofia insisted. “What choice do I have?”  
“You were rejected by one Conservatory, one-”  
“-The best in the Soviet Union as you reminded me,” Sofia argued.  
“-You can still apply for others, even set your sights lower to teach music,” Nina suggested.  
“Like you did,” Sofia sharply retorted. “I have better things to do with my life than living through the achievements of others to make up for my failures.”  
Nina hung her head. She had been a stage and film actress in the ‘30’s and ‘40’s but somehow never achieved success. Rather than despairing over the issue, she decided to become a singing and drama instructor and when Raissa's ballet career ended in an injury, the two long time friends decided to combine their resources and become mentors to young girls interested in starting careers in music, drama, and dance.

“So you would rather live them through your husband,” Nina countered. “Do you think that man cares for you? He only wants a mother for his children and a housekeeper that he doesn't have to pay. He will never let you be yourself.”  
“Neither will you,” Sofia shot back. “I am marrying him. I love Alexei and he loves me. That is all there is to it.”  
Nina shook her head. “Then we have nothing more to say to each other. You are alone in this. We will never see each other again. Pozhaluysta ostavite.” Please leave. Tears filled Sofia's eyes as she packed her bags, left the dorm room, and joined her fiancé.

It didn't take long for Sofia to realize how right Nina actually was. In fact it took their wedding night. Shortly after the two made love, Alexei looked her up and down and said. “You will have to do better than that if you do not wish me to find it elsewhere.”  
“I was a virgin until now,” Sofia objected. That comment only incensed him further and he struck his wife.   
“If you wish to be a good wife, you will not argue with your husband,” Alexei growled. Sofia nodded meekly.

She never objected when her husband ordered her about. As a good military wife, she was required to keep the house in order cleaning and scrubbing for hours on end, have meals prepared for her husband the second he walked in, keep her head low, never object to her husband's demands, and always ask his permission. She learned rather quickly.  
One day, she stood up from scrubbing the floor. She straightened her back wearily and rested her hand on her womb. Five months pregnant and it felt like an eternity. Sofia hoped her child would be nothing like it's father. Since Alexei would not be home for sometime, Sofia decided to take a break and read the newspaper.

An obituary caught her eye. It said that Nina Shirmateava, music and drama instructor died of ovarian cancer at age 49. Tears filled Sofia's eyes at the loss of her friend and mentor. She realized that Nina may have been ill when she left. Nina's final words: We will never see each other again haunted her. They weren't a threat, a warning. Sofia realized that they were a sad truth that she and the girl who was like a daughter to her never would see each other again in this world.  
Sofia's hands shook as she picked up the phone and dialed Raissa Cohen's number. “Privet?” The woman answered. Sofia could tell by that one word that the ballet instructor was filled with an intense grief. Sofia held the phone in dumb silence as Raissa's voice continued. “Privet? Privet?” Hello. Hello. “This is not funny. We are a house in mourning.” Sofia could hear the loss in the other woman's voice like someone whose spouse died. Maybe the student's theories about the two women were right.(A month later, Sofia read sadly that Raissa Cohen had followed her friend in death cause uncertain but Sofia wondered if she died of a broken heart.)

Sofia hung up the phone unsure about what to say and knowing that she made the choice to marry and cut ties with her surrogate mother and aunt. Marriage and motherhood took the place of her aspirations. She had to accept that. Nina was right, she was alone in this.

She was literally alone when she went into labor. Alexei was out with his drinking comrades having a good time. Sofia felt a tremendous amount of pain so much that she opened the partition to let the family on the other side know that she was going into labor.  
Most families that shared a Kruschev apartment ignored each other. This was even more so in the military barracks. When the family on the other side screamed at each other, the Dragos did not respond. When Alexei beat and swore at his wife, the family on the other side never called the police because they probably did not want to be a bother. Sofia considered it a miracle that they helped at all. Two women, Sofia knew their names to be Olga and Irina, a mother and daughter respectively, helped the young mother back to bed. Sofia knew there was also a husband, Dimitri, but he was out. She wondered if he was gone for the evening maybe with Alexei.

Olga told Sofia to push while her daughter rubbed her forehead with a wet cloth. She was in such intense pain but continued to push for her child's sake. Finally, the baby emerged from his mother.   
Olga cut the cord as she handed the crying little one back to his mother. “He has quite a set of lungs,” she said dryly. “He has the look of a fighter in him.” Sofia thanked them for their help. Sofia would have liked to be their friends, but they left the next day and she never saw them again.

Sofia looked at her son. He favored his mother completely with fair hair and blue eyes. His features however were those of his father. Alexei. Would Alexei be as happy as she was now? She remembered how fond Alexei was of his late father and she thought maybe in a way that Sofia gave her husband his family back.  
When Alexei entered the apartment, Sofia breastfed her son. “What is that?” Alexei asked confused.  
Sofia laughed. “That is Ivan Alexeyevich Drago, your son.”  
Alexei's eyes widened then softened at the realization. “My son? Ivan?” He smiled and looked closely at the boy. “You know there is something of the old man in him. He looks like a fighter already.”  
“It's what everyone thinks,” Sofia said with a laugh as her husband kissed her then his son.

Sofia hoped that fatherhood would mellow her husband and smooth his rough edges but it didn't. He was just as hard and critical as ever. He was extremely impatient with his son ordering his wife to make him stop crying then criticizing her for coddling him. Sofia could do nothing but hold her son and pray that he won't be like his father so filled with rage and anger.  
When Ivan was a year and a half old, his father returned home furious. Ivan had lined up his set of toy soldiers on the floor and played quietly with them in the corner. Alexei walked into the house and stepped on one of Ivan's soldiers. He screamed with rage and backhanded his son. Ivan ran to his mother's side in fear.  
That incensed Alexei even more.  
“Make him be a strong man, not a weakling who runs to his coddling mother!” He shouted.

Sofia comforted her son and reminded him that he must put away his toys so as not to make Papa mad. “Are you alright Alexei?” She asked.  
Alexei laughed a chilling laugh. “No I am not. I have been discharged!”  
“What happened?” Sofia asked.  
Alexei told her. It took place after a boxing match. Alexei was fighting against a younger opponent Ilya Smirnov. Since Smirnov was younger and faster, Alexei had to resort to cheap shots to gain the advantage. He punched him after the bell rang which caused their superiors to stop the fight. Alexei was in such a white heat rage that when a sergeant major attempted to remove him, Alexei struck him. “Apparently it was not the first time,” Alexei said. “They claim I have been insubordinate before.”  
“Well you have a temper,” Sofia began. Her husband clenched his fist and glared at her. Sofia backtracked. “What I mean is that you are always right of course with your temper.”  
Alexei nodded. “Be that as it may, they did not see that.” They did not wait for a hearing. Alexei suspected that they were so fed up with his temper that they discharged him on the spot removing his insignias and badges and telling him to leave.  
“They have it in for me you know,” Alexei said. “They all do! I lost because of them!”

“No it's not your fault,” Sofia agreed knowing that different opinions were not a luxury that she was permitted with her husband. “So what happens now?”  
Alexei shrugged. “I collect my pension, this fucking government owes me that much at least. Find work I suppose.”  
“I could as well,” Sofia suggested.  
Alexei laughed. “And do what? Besides I don't want my wife working!”   
“Yes Alexei,” she said.   
She then felt a tug on her skirt hem as Ivan toddled up to her. “Mama gold’ny,” he said putting his hand towards his mouth gesturing that he was hungry.   
“Alright Vanyushka,” she said. Sofia picked up her son and carried him to the kitchen feeding him his baby food.

Shortly after that, Alexei, his wife, and son moved to the Kapotnya district in Moscow which was the only place he could afford. Sofia hated it but never said anything. The crime, drunken shouting, shootings, and riots feared her nights with terror.   
She could tell Ivan did not like it very much either. “Gromko,” he said one night covering his ears as a street brawl occurred right outside their window.  
“Indeed,” Sofia said. “Far too loud.”

The only one who adjusted to this environment was Alexei mostly because he found many friends who were like him, former soldiers mostly but also unemployed laborers, former criminals, those who were without hope and spent their nights drinking their troubles away.  
Now Alexei was unemployed and unwilling to look for work. Most of the time he either sat at home getting drunk with his friends or go to the smoky pubs and get drunk there. He had a bad temper that couldn't be tamed and when he got mad, he got violent especially after several drinks of vodka.  
Ivan sometimes cried in the corner as his father swallowed more drinks and his voice became louder. He told bawdy jokes with his friends, laughed uproariously, and sang Russian folk songs at the top of his lungs usually ranting about the goddamned Leonid Brezhnev and the fucking Politburo and Kremlin.  
As he grew and learned about Soviet politics in school, Ivan wondered since Father never was hidden about his dislike of the government, why he hadn't gotten arrested yet. But he realized that nobody wanted to. No one took his father seriously. To his former military comrades he was just a joke, a harmless clown, better left to rot in his obscurity than made into an example.

From an early age, Ivan learned the art and hidden power of staying silent.   
He learned that when he was three. His father lay on the couch hungover and Ivan watched Crocodile Gena on television. Alexei ordered his son to keep the sound down or else. Ivan kept it as low as possible and didn’t say anything.   
On the screen, Gena and his little friend Cheburashka were talking about their latest caper when Gena took out his accordion to sing a silly song. The lyrics made Ivan smile. Before he could stop himself, he laughed. He covered his mouth but the laughter continued through his closed fingers. 

It stopped immediately when his father sprang up from his bed. “I thought I told you to be quiet!” He beat his son knocking him to the floor.  
“I was being quiet,” Ivan insisted. “I’m sorry, Papa.”  
“Are you arguing with me, malachik?” Boy. “Are you being insubordinate?” With each question, Alexei shook his son.   
“Nyet,” Ivan whimpered.   
“You will learn not to argue with me,” Alexei commanded picking his son up by the hair so hard that he actually pulled tufts from his scalp. He then turned his son over and undid his shirt. He then took off his belt and beat his son multiple times.   
Ivan cried hot angry tears. He wanted so badly to fight his father or run away from him. He couldn’t fight since the man was much bigger than him. He couldn’t run because he had to protect Mama. After all, Papa beat her too. The only thing he could do was accept it, let him beat him, and be quiet. Just freeze. 

If he argued or disagreed with his father, Alexei always found an excuse to rail on him and beat him severely. Ivan learned that it was best not to say anything at all. So he sat in silence observing his father with equal parts fear and hatred simmering inside him. Sometimes he went through a whole day without saying anything.  
The only thing that could bring Ivan out of his self- imposed emotional exile was how his father treated his mother. 

One night, Sofia delivered drinks and food to Alexei and his friends. One a very large bearded man, Oleg blocked Sofia's movement with one leg. She turned around but he blocked her path with his other leg. Sofia was terrified caught between this larger man's legs. “Look what I caught,” Oleg quipped.  
“Careful she doesn't bite,” another friend Gleb taunted. The other men laughed. As usual Ivan sat in the corner watching but not speaking. He was terrified what would happen but couldn't stop watching.  
Alexei laughed. “Sonia bite? No she is a mouse, a morsel. You should see her in bed much too timid and frigid.”  
“Please let me go,” Sofia begged but Oleg grabbed her by the arms.  
“Too timid and frigid?” Oleg mocked. “Maybe we should find out.”  
“No please,” Sofia begged again as Oleg stood up holding her from behind. Sofia screamed as Oleg pushed her to the ground.

“Vlad, Gleb, help me boys,” Oleg commanded. Sofia was no match for these larger men. Vlad held her down and Gleb and Oleg removed her clothing. Alexei just laughed and taunted his wife. “If you can't fuck me properly, maybe you will for them!”   
Ivan shivered in fear and anger at the sight of his mother nude lying on the ground. He charged towards these men like a manic bull in a blind fury. “You leave my Mama alone!” He said kicking Oleg in the shin.  
There was a pause but the men just laughed. “Hey look at the little Cossack riding to the rescue!” Oleg mocked.  
“You should get a look son,” Alexei said. “You will learn the facts of life.” He held Ivan in his arms. The boy struggled to get away. “Don't move. Stay silent.” Alexei commanded.

In his father's arms, Ivan wanted to get away but he couldn't. He wanted to turn his head or close his eyes but the image was burned into his brain. The image of his tear stained mother begging for them to stop lying naked on the floor as these grunting slobbering men, no not men pigs raped her one by one. Worst of all was the laughter from his father the satisfied moan like his wife's bad treatment was somehow arousing.  
When the men were finished, they stood up. Ivan tumbled to the floor next to his sobbing mother. He helped her rise. She collapsed in the boy's arms and sobbed. But Ivan's eyes were dry.   
“Come comrades, we're finished here,” Alexei said. “I want to go see what Miriam and her women have in store for us!” He knelt down to his wife and whispered harshly to her. “I told you that I would get it somewhere else now so will you!” Sofia said nothing only cried some more. Ivan kept his eyes fixed on his father. He wished he could kill him right there.

After Alexei and the others left, Ivan practically gathered his mother's clothing. Her hands shook so the young boy helped her dress. “I hate him,” Ivan hissed as he helped button his mother's blouse. “I wish he were dead!”  
“You mustn't say such things Ivan,” Sofia said. “You should hate no one especially not your father.”  
“I don't care,” Ivan insisted. “I wish he were dead! Someday I will fight him and I will beat him!”

That rape became one of several. Sofia waited on her husband and his friends meekly enduring their taunts, catcalls, and that Alexei's friends would continue to strip and molest her, and force her to sing to her husband's laughter and her son's shame.  
His father also alluded to the other women he slept with like Miriam who ran a brothel and her prostitutes and how Sofia didn't perform as well as they did.  
After she finished serving the men, Sofia ran to her bedroom or the kitchen with tears in her eyes while Ivan followed close behind and comforted her.  
Sometimes late at night, Ivan would hear his father's slobbering grunts of satisfaction and his mother's pleas of “Alexei please stop!” and “No,” through the partition. He didn't know what it meant but his mother's frightened tears and bruised face in the morning told him that it wasn't good.

Everything about Sofia seemed to convey fragility like a fancy glass object that would break if the least amount of strain was put on her. After her son’s birth, her health began to decline. A doctor diagnosed her as having a weak heart. For even that her husband had no pity and continued to rail at and strike her.   
During the day, she often tired easily caring for the apartment. Ivan followed her close behind and helped her clean up so as not to anger his father when he came home if the job wasn’t finished. He then helped her into bed as though his mother was the child and he was the parent.

Both of his parents had failed in their lives tremendously. Alexei ranted and raved about his losses, accusing them of being part of a conspiracy, and never accepted his own blame. Sofia on the other hand barely talked about her aborted singing career. The only tie she had to it now was to sing lullabies to her son when he couldn’t sleep. She did every night and smoothed back his hair until he nodded off.  
Ivan thought of his parent’s losses and vowed that it would never happen to him. He would never lose. He would always win. 

He remembered his mother's death, when he was 7 years old, and that fueled his continuing buried rage.  
Alexei was late coming home so late that his supper was cold. He greeted his son with a slap that sent him falling to the ground and his wife with a sharp reprimand and demand of where his supper was. Sofia, heavily pregnant with her second child, bowed and obeyed her husband.  
After Alexei tasted his first bite, he stood and railed at his wife asking if she was trying to poison him.  
“It was warm an hour ago,” Sofia said her bird-like voice trembling.  
“What did you say woman what did you say?” he screamed at her then punched her in the stomach.

Sofia collapsed on the floor, her sobs filled the room. Lightning flashed in Ivan's eyes. He darted towards his father and pounded at him with his fists.  
He couldn't even make a dent in his father. Instead Alexei Drago laughed and peeled his son off his leg. “Trying to fight your old man are you boy? You're only a puppy, a weak puppy!”  
He tossed the boy down and laughed. “I-I am not a weakling,” Ivan stammered. “You are!”  
Alexei stopped laughing and shook his son hard. “What did you say? You will show proper respect to your father!” He tossed him to the ground.

From where she lay, Sofia screamed. “No Alexei, he's only a child!” She wept as her towheaded son was thrown to the ground. She cried but then suddenly clutched her abdomen and screamed in pain.  
“Mama,” Ivan screamed running to his mother's side and holding her. He saw the blood emerge from underneath.  
Alexei laughed at his wife's condition. Ivan rose in fury and spat at his father. Alexei slapped his son and said, “Quit being hysterical boy! She will be fine! She just exaggerates don't you, Sonia? Get up.” Sofia attempted to rise but she fell back down and shook her head. Alexei’s laughter got more nervous. “Come now Sonia, rise.” She tried again but she couldn't. Alexei became more terrified and yelled at his wife to get up.  
Ivan ran out of the apartment and called a neighbor to send for a doctor. He then ran back into the apartment as his father stood by the wall paralyzed with fear, worry, and guilt doing nothing more but sink to the floor and burst into hysterics.  
Ivan approached his mother and held her. “It will be alright, Mama,” Ivan said. Sofia smiled but her face was ashen.  
“You would have been a good big brother,” Sofia said knowing that she was about to lose the life inside her.  
Ivan didn't care about his unborn sibling. He only cared about his mother. He held her tightly refusing to let go as people came and took her to the hospital.

Losing the baby caused Sofia Drago to lose the will to live. Her heart, never strong to begin with, was completely worn down from the physical abuse and the miscarriage. She was constantly bedridden and ill.  
Ivan sat near her talking to her when he didn't like talking to anyone else. He told her everything: events of the day, what was on television, things he learned in school anything that he hoped would take away his mother's grief and pain. Sometimes he begged his mother to sing for him but she never would. Occasionally she offered a thin smile but the sadness was always there.

One day she ran a high fever and she faded in and out. She called her son over. “Vanyushka, you are a strong boy and I know you will be a strong man,” she said. “One thing that I ask that you do not hate your father. He is just a sad man who has been defeated. He was once a man who showed love for his country and family.  
Now he does not. He shows only hate and anger and that's what defeats him. That makes him see everyone as an enemy. That does not make a person strong. It makes them weak because they have nothing to fight for.  
When they have nothing, they are truly defeated and they lose even when they think that they have won. Hate no one and find your own victory. Please don't be like your father.”  
“I won't be, Mama “ Ivan promised. “I won't be weak like him. I will always win.”  
Sofia lowered her eyes and for a moment Ivan thought he saw disappointment in her lazy blue eyes. She then held her son close. Ivan winced letting tears sting his eyes as he embraced his mother until her heart stopped.

After that everything changed between Ivan and his father. Alexei's drinking escalated to the point where Ivan rarely saw him without a glass of vodka in his hands.  
Sometimes late at night Ivan woke up to hear his father sobbing and screaming Sofia's name, begging for her to return and for her forgiveness. Far from being sympathetic, Ivan lay back in bed thinking that if it weren't for that drunk foolish old man his mother would still be alive.  
Ivan did everything he could to stay away from his father.

He saw some of the street kids in his home in Kapotnya and how the mob would beat each other bloody for a coat or a fresh piece of meat so he joined them.  
Even though he was younger than most of them, he was quick with his feet, fists, and reflexes, and a fast learner so he often got the better of them. His quiet demeanor often helped as many of them yelled before they attacked so Ivan heard them coming. When he attacked, no one noticed until he did.  
He jogged and practiced shadow punches. He watched the fighters on television wondering what made them strong and copied their moves. He vowed that he would be like them. He would enter the ring, fight his opponent, and show no mercy. He would then raise his fists in the air in triumph and no one not even his alcoholic father would defeat him.

Sometimes Ivan did odd jobs for people in the neighborhood like shoveling snow, or yard work. He was already a physically strong boy and could work for a long time without tiring. He did the work and accepted the money feeling like an adult who earned his own money in the world. He saved his earnings inside a loose wooden plank under the floor and then use it to buy food for himself and his father. He knew that his mother would never have wanted him to let her husband starve.  
It was a good thing too. After his wife's death, Alexei blew his pension money on drink. It would no sooner be in his hands than it would be gone.

In his drunken state, Alexei fought with his son. Alexei glowered and taunted at the boy often egging him on calling him names like “Ivanushka-Durachok”, after Ivan The Fool, the imbecilic folk character.  
Ivan would not let Alexei get to him. Letting him anger him would be a sign of defeat and weakness. Somehow him standing there silent and glaring angered Alexei more but he could find no defense against it.  
The less Ivan spoke and glared his father down, the less likely Alexei was to strike back and somehow Ivan felt some small grain of power against him. However, Ivan knew this stand-down couldn't last forever. Eventually one of them would break.

The break finally occurred on the second anniversary of Ivan's mother's death. He accepted money from a neighbor after he shoveled snow in the back of her house then walked inside his apartment.  
Ivan approached his secret hiding place to add this money with the rest, over a month's work, when he started.  
The floorboard was open and his secret hiding place was revealed. Ivan felt his hand inside and realized that it was empty.

“Looking for this?” a slurred voice asked. Ivan turned to the sitting room to see his father laying on the settee surrounded by at least twenty empty glasses of vodka. He held up another and swallowed it down. Ivan glanced at the table in horror to see at least twenty more full glasses. He knew where that money went.  
“Father that money was for food,” Ivan said angrily. Ivan clenched his fists in fury at his father's selfishness that not only did he steal his son's money but he used it to buy alcohol for himself without even a thought for his son.

Alexei chortled as he drank another glass. Ivan noticed that the old man was shaking as though he were having a small seizure. “Oh he speaks,” he laughed. “After thinking that he is too good to speak to me he finally speaks! It's a blessed miracle! He doesn't speak to me,” He rose on shaking legs as though he rose for the first time that day. Alexei reached over to hit his son then he hit him again. “He hides money from me in my house!” He hit him again. “Money is wasted to give him food and clothing!” He hit him again. “You are no good to anyone not even your mother! I am glad she died so she didn't see what an insubordinate disobedient lying thief of a son she left me with!”

He lay another fist on top of his son but Ivan stopped it, not very well, but he managed to keep it from landing on his head. Alexei drew back in surprise as Ivan seized the opportunity to punch his father.  
Unlike the fight when he was 7, Ivan managed to get a few swings in. He wasn't overly impressive but he held his own for a 9-year-old boy fighting against his middle-aged father who was twice his size.  
As he punched his father, Ivan screamed at him all of the bottled up rage that lay hidden. “Murderer,” he yelled. “You killed her! You broke her! I will kill you!” He pounded on him again and again.  
The element of surprise plus the slower reflexes by the nonstop drinking binge caused Alexei to not react at first. When he did, he pulled his son off him and, like when the boy was 7, knocked him to the ground.

He shook and was out of breath as he approached his son. His eyes were unfocused as though he were delirious and couldn't find his son. He swore and beat his son once before he fell to the ground.  
Despite what happened before, Ivan was terrified. Seizures ripped through his father's body as he collapsed on the ground. His mouth choked with vomit as some poured out of his mouth but Alexei began to choke and Ivan suspected some of the vomit remained inside his mouth.  
Alexei looked up at his son, his face flushed and his delirious eyes unfocused. “Ivan help me please,” Alexei begged.  
Ivan stepped back. He remembered his father's punches towards his mother. He purposely took a couple of slow steps backward to give his father false hope. “Yes good boy, Ivan send for a doctor,” Alexei pleaded, his body shaking constantly.

Ivan remembered his father's laughter as his wife lay on the ground before her miscarriage and as his friends passed her around like a trophy and stripped her before they raped her. Ivan remembered his mother's tears as his father screamed at and struck her. Ivan deliberately stopped.   
“Ivan,” Alexei said. “What are you doing boy? Send for a doctor.” Alexei Drago winced as he realized that his son would do no such thing.  
Ivan stood over his father. He only said four words. “Don't move. Stay silent.”  
Alexei choked as blood and vomit emerged from his mouth. He soiled himself looking more disgraceful than Ivan had ever seen him. “Damn you,” Alexei hissed before he shook one more violent time as life was leaving him.

Since neither of his parents had any living relatives, Ivan was sent to a state run orphanage. Because of his silent demeanor, many of the authorities thought the boy was in shock because of his father's death. After all they reasoned that it must have been a traumatic experience for a 9-year-old to be left alone as his father succumbed to alcohol poisoning right in front of him.  
They thought at first he was mentally deficient but after a week of him not responding and the instructors talking over him, Ivan said aloud, “I am not mentally deficient.” His answer settled that debate.  
The orphanage was understaffed and overcrowded. There were at least five children to a bed and the nights were filled with children quarreling over who got the most sheets or the biggest cut of food during meals.(Ivan quite often had the advantage.) Still there never was enough food to go around and the building was always noisy, crowded, and cold.

Mikhail Berchenko, the director required the strictest discipline especially among the oldest orphans. They were required to stand and march in formation. They were discouraged from listening to music, posting pictures in their rooms, having personal possessions, or doing anything that showed individuality.  
There were many infractions and a penalty system was established so if an orphan disobeyed, then he would certainly be punished either by whippings, isolation, or other means at their display. Ivan once was caught fighting with another orphan.

The other orphan, Yuri taunted Ivan about his mother. “So where’s yours?” he asked.  
“She’s dead,” Ivan answered.   
“Probably of syphilis no doubt,” Yuri laughed getting some of the bigger boys to laugh right along with him.   
Ivan didn’t know what syphilis was but he knew his mother didn’t die from it. “No, she had a weak heart.”   
The others laughed. “No it was probably syphilis, that’s how all whores die!”  
“My mother was not a whore!” Ivan commanded.   
“Of course, she was,” Yuri said. “How else did you end up here? How did any of us end up here?” He was about to say more when Ivan sprang up and beat the other orphan. 

The loud cheers and shouts caused Berchenko to run at the sound. He pulled the two boys apart from each other. “Now what is the meaning of this?”  
“Drago jumped me for no good reason,” Yuri said.  
“He called my mother a whore,” Ivan shouted.  
“Both of you will be punished,” Berchenko commanded.  
The two boys were made to stand outside in the snow only in their boxers and undershirts in different shifts. Yuri went first. When it was Ivan’s turn he elbowed him. Ivan made a fist but did not aim.

The workers knew that none of the older children would ever be adopted so they accepted they would be there until they reached maturity therefore the adults were free to do whatever they wanted to do to them and that included physical, mental, and sexual abuse. Berchenko had his pick of which children that he engaged in private sessions. Every night he called one to his private chambers where they would be subjected to brutal torture including whippings, beatings, rape, and others.  
The children would do whatever they could to get out of it. Sometimes they begged or screamed to be left alone. Others would turn on other children hoping that Berchenko would go easy on them if it meant hurting another child. Sometimes Ivan would hear another child scream and cry during the night either because they were being abused or because they suffered from nightmares of it. 

Ivan never cried when it was his turn. He just accepted it and froze never saying anything or reacting. Instead just like with his father, he remained silent and defiant. Inwardly they frightened him but outwardly he would never show it. To admit fear was a sign of weakness and he would never do that never again.  
He lay awake during the night staring at the stars and thinking about people like his father and Mikhail Berchenko.

His father was a weak man defeated by life and took that defeat out on his family. As much as he loved his mother, she was weak too because her love for her husband and her own regrets left her at his mercy. She never defended herself nor her son and while Ivan still loved her, he also began to hate her too for her vulnerability.  
Mikhail Berchenko gained power by abusing children. Ivan swore he would never be like any of them.

They tried to make him feel powerless but instead Ivan felt stronger. That anger would fuel him and turn him into someone who could not be defeated, someone who had power, someone who would always be the victor.  
No Ivan Drago would not cry. Instead he vowed that he would train. He would fight. He would win. He would always win.

Author's Note:  
1\. As Russian readers will know Vorobey is not an actual surname in Russia. It means “sparrow.” I thought since Sofia would marry a man whose family name was one letter off from dragon her name should also be an animal name to reflect her singing and fragile nature.

2\. While not named the aria that Sofia performs when Alexei first meets her is “The Doll Song” from Tales from Hoffman. She is playing the part of Olympia, an automated doll who catches the eye of Hoffman, who is unaware that she isn’t human. Her aria is sung as she winds down leaving her handler to wind her back up again. The opera is also referred to again when Sofia sings the part of Antonia, who as the narrative explains is caught between her love for Hoffman who wants her to give up singing for fear it may kill her and her love for her mother who was once an accomplished singer.

3\. Nina Shirmataeva and Raissa Cohen are NOT original characters. They come from a YA novel that I read several times in high school called The Awakening. Nina is the protagonist who at the time was a young teenage girl during the Stalinist 1930’s and went to a music and dance conservatory with the hopes of becoming and actress and singer. Raissa Cohen is her best friend, a premiere ballerina at the school. The book goes through Nina’s youth as she is abused by her sadistic grandmother, cares for her weak-willed mother (much like Sofia), and has two romances one with Vakhtang, a film director while she is still a minor and he is a grown man and another with Viktor, a male ballet student who ultimately leaves her for another woman. (Who ironically is also named Ludmilla.) The book ends with Nina and Raissa deciding to live together and care for Raissa’s mother who had been released from a Soviet prison after the death of her husband and Raissa’s father. The book never comes right out and says whether or not Nina and Raissa are lesbians or have a lesbian romance but there is evidence to suggest that they might be. (While Nina is involved with two men as I said, Raissa’s romances are never discussed and when Nina does get involved with Viktor, the dancer, Raissa reacts in a way that suggests she is extremely jealous. Also the last line of the book is Nina thinking about Raissa and her mother and saying that she “had someone who loved her at last.”

4\. I enjoyed looking up Russian and Soviet Culture for this fanfic. It was a lot of fun looking up everything from district names, currency amounts, baby names, food, historic events, and mythological characters. I experienced much of it for the first time except one notable exception. I already knew of Ivanushka-Durachok, because my younger sister loved a Russian cartoon called The Magic Pony. (Or the Humpback Pony). Ivanushka-Durachok is the main character. I also knew of Grandfather Frost thanks to the MST3K episode Jack.Frost. (“Alright that's it. You just opened up a sled full of whoopass, Frost.”)

5\. The repetitions of each chapter ending with “Ivan would not cry” is because this fic started out as a “Five Times Ivan Drago Did Not Cry (And One Time He did)” But this fic got too long and wordy for that, so I changed the format but I still liked the chapter endings since a lot of this fic deals with the theme of concealing and revealing emotion.


	2. Creed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a familiar match we get Ivan's time in the Soviet Army, his rising boxing career, and his meeting and marriage to Ludmilla Vobet.

The Unmistakable Fire  
A Rocky IV/Creed II Fanfic  
By Auburn Red  
II: Creed

Ivan Drago looked down at the dying man before him. Apollo Creed lay on the ground, his body shaking with the last movements of life. Ivan thought how much it reminded him of his father, that shaking lifeless body. Ivan could look at him no longer.  
He answered the reporter's questions that he would not be defeated and he will soon fight a real champion. He looked down at Creed's body once more but no he had a job to do. He couldn't stop to feel anything now. But he did.

He remembered the battles in Afghanistan where he shot at enemies but they were a mile or so away. They weren't up close and they were killed by guns and bombs not by his bare hands.  
Creed's trainer, Duke, and friend, Rocky Balboa, ran up to his body to see signs of life. He could hear the wail of Creed's wife, Mary Anne, from across the casino stadium. He remembered that desperation that he had when his mother miscarried hoping somehow she would be alright. No, he thought, this is a war and Apollo Creed is an enemy. We are not soldiers but we are still enemies. Do not think of him any other way.  
“If he dies, he dies,” he said flatly. He met the eyes of Rocky Balboa, the man he wanted to fight.

He glared with such hatred and vengeance. The same way Ivan and his fellow soldiers looked on the battlefield. The way he looked at his father and the people at the orphanage. Balboa looked at Ivan as an enemy to be vanquished. So be it, Ivan thought returning the same stare to him. He would prepare for it the way he prepared for every fight ever since he left the army.

After he left the orphanage, Ivan entered the military school and then joined the Soviet Army.  
There was no discussion of what he wanted to do with his life. Ivan was tested physically and mentally at the orphanage's accompanying school. When the evaluation determined that he fit the profile of a soldier in the Ground Forces Infantry, he accepted it. Inside he was just glad to be anywhere that wasn't the orphanage.

It didn't take long for him to dislike the Soviet Army as much as the orphanage. Apart from the uniforms, there wasn't much difference between military education and training and his time in the orphanage: the fighting for anything, the conformity, even the punishments were all too familiar.  
As before, Ivan built up, trained, and remained stoic and quiet unable and unwilling to feel very much or show any outward emotion.

He fought during the Soviet-Afghanistan War gaining quite a reputation for being a relentless but standoffish soldier. He participated in raids in the rural villages. He and other soldiers marched through the villages, looking for rebels and insurgents. They cut off supply routes, burned homes, and interrogated civilians to go after enemies.  
Many times Ivan and his fellow soldiers tortured and beat civilians for information: women, children, older people. People who should have no value to the soldiers but they did anyway.  
Ivan reacted to these raids with cold indifference unlike many of his comrades who delighted in them. When Ivan was ordered to shoot, he shot. When he was told to beat a captive, he beat the captive. He did his duties as a soldier but got no joy or remorse out of it. He didn't like his orders and felt that their actions were brutal and unnecessary. He just did them. He just fought. They are enemies of the people, he was told. Go after them or they will go after you.

It didn't take long for Ivan to treat his actions on the battlefield with a mechanical detachment one that preferred not to feel a thing or act like he didn't. When he was filled with doubt or his nights were troubled by the memories of frightened faces and screaming voices, Ivan tried to suppress them. He forced himself to concentrate on his orders not how he felt about them. Some of the other soldiers teased him by calling him “robot” because he became very good at showing no emotion.

Many of his comrades were not the same. Many of them delighted in the torture and killings. They were the types that would beat someone to death after they were ordered to quit.  
Ivan watched as some of his comrades took the younger females and gang raped them. Ivan never participated but he never spoke out against them either. He considered such behavior beneath him and it contributed nothing to the goal of catching insurgents. There was also a small part of him that remembered the times when his father's friends molested his mother or when he was molested at the orphanage. Those actions still filled him with a haunted loathing.

Ivan never sought friendship from his comrades in arms. He never even referred to them by the term always referring to them by last name.”Comrade” suggested friendship and familiarity, things he didn't have.  
Some soldiers exchanged laughs over drinks which since technically alcohol was forbidden, the soldiers got really good at hiding vodka inside bottles of shoe polish and other liquids. Ivan did not drink often preferring to be as disciplined off duty as he was when he was on. A glass or two was enough but no more than that. Drinking too much made people, especially soldiers, out of control. Made them unstable, violent, useless. Made them his father.  
He was not there for social reasons to make friends, drink, and have a good time. He was there to fight, to please Russia. That's all he needed to do whether he wanted to be there or not.  
He rose through the ranks because of his relentless and reputation of being a blunt soldier. The promotions came because he proved his capabilities by firing on opponents, locating enemies before they fired, and never stopping. When he was promoted, he nodded but felt no real satisfaction.

Even his Captaincy was not a cause for victory. It happened during a surprise raid. Unfortunately the mujaheddin was alerted of their arrival because they were ready for them and started shooting. The result was a bloodbath as soon as they arrived. Many were shot including the captain and major both of whom died leaving the regiment temporarily leaderless.  
Sr. Lt. Ivan Drago instantly took command. He ordered the soldiers “Strelyat!” ,shoot, as another senior lieutenant, Alexei Baluk yelled, “Otstuyplentiye!” Retreat!  
“You will shoot,” Ivan said in command.  
Baluk, shouted. “You can't order us about! You are not our commander! I will report you to the Ministry of Justice!”  
“You can report me to Yuri Andropov for all I care,” Ivan declared. “I give the order now!”  
“Who put you in charge?” Baluk persisted.  
Ivan held up one finger getting irritated at this challenge in chain of command right at the moment when it was least important. “Who put me in charge?” He shoved Baluk to face the mujahideen across from them. “They did! Now you pick up that gun and you fucking shoot the bastards!” Rather than arguing any longer, Baluk and the others shot.

They managed to fight back and succeed, but at a great cost. The regiment was almost completely wiped out. For his courage and determination in the face of battle, Ivan was promoted to Captain and was awarded the Order of Lenin for exemplary service. Ivan reacted with this promotion, the way he did with the previous ones with detachment and indifference not pride. Though he did take an internal smug delight that he outranked his father. He just looked forward to the day when he could leave the Army behind.

While in the Army, Ivan also became like his father an amateur boxer. He fought his fellow soldiers in the ring to the loud cheers of his comrades as they passed money around. He had a reputation similar to his time in the battlefield of being a ruthless fighter who took his opponents out rather early. He began to see his opponents the way he saw his father or the orphanage directors as enemies to be defeated.  
He took delight that boxing wasn't something that was chosen for him. It was something that he had a genuine talent for, something that he took real pride in. He enjoyed the fighting in the ring much more than the fighting on the battlefield.  
Each time he won, Ivan considered it a victory to show the world and himself that he was unbent, unbroken, and undefeated. An indestructible master of war.

After a match against Baluk that took place in Moscow during furlough, a short gray haired clean shaven gentleman greeted Ivan as he was about to head for the showers. “Captain Drago my name is Sergei Vobet and I recruit athletes if I think they have potential and I think you could be on your way to becoming an Olympian.”  
Ivan was skeptical but part of him was interested. He was never one to indulge in foolish daydreaming but he couldn't help but visualize himself on the platform with a gold medal around his neck. He visualized himself even more standing over a fallen opponent and holding the champion belt in his hands.  
“You already have a fine reputation as the best boxer in the Army. With the assistance of myself and my trusted allies, you could be the best boxer in the Soviet Union even the world.”  
Ivan offered a thin smile. “I would like that,” he said.  
Vobet gave the boxer his address and said that he hoped to see him there.

Ivan arrived at the Vobet home and gymnasium in Khavamoniki. At first he knocked on the door but when no one answered he headed for the gym.  
Ivan's mouth dropped open in amazement at all the plaques, certificates, and pictures of athletes mounted on the walls and in trophy cases: everyone from gymnasts, to figure skaters, to martial artists, to football players, to swimmers yes even to boxers were represented. For an orphaned former street kid from the Kapotnya district this was amazing. It was as close as Ivan would ever be to royalty.

A splash of water startled him as Ivan headed for the direction. He opened the door to see an Olympic sized swimming pool. A lone figure swam from one end of the pool to the other. She had a nicely sculpted body that he could tell was that of an athlete. She was dressed in a red and yellow swimsuit and a red swim cap. Ivan watched her move back and forth effortlessly like a mermaid or another mythological sea creature. He was aroused by the sight of her swimming unaware of the world around her.  
Ivan wordlessly watched the woman as she stopped and approached one end of the pool. For the first time she looked at her admirer. “If you are here for the landscaping position then I regret to inform you that it has already been filled.”  
Ivan stammered slightly embarrassed. He wasn't in uniform, so he could understand why she would make such a mistake. He stepped back. “No I am here to see Sergei Vobet.”

The woman gave a cat-like grin. She exited the pool taking full advantage at her guest's amazement at her built body. She removed her swim cap revealing a short pert blond haircut. “As you can see I am not Sergei Vobet,” she said dryly. “Now hand me a towel.”  
Ivan pulled a towel from the rack and handed it to her. She began to dab at her wet body and rub her face. Ivan wanted to take her right then and there. “What do you want with him?” She asked.  
“I was expected to meet with him,” Ivan responded. “My name is Ivan Alexeyevich Drago.”  
The woman nodded. “Ah yes, the boxer. Dyadya Sergei is expecting you. He will be back soon. Just wait while I shower and dress and I will take you to the house.”

The woman emerged dressed in a smart gray skirt and blouse. She beckoned Ivan to follow her. “By the way I am Ludmilla Feodorovna Vobetova.”  
Ivan nodded in recognition. He thought she looked familiar. “You won the gold medals in 1976 and ‘80.”  
“That's right,” Ludmilla said. “Right now I am in training for 1984.”

Ivan followed her as she led him to their main room. Ludmilla motioned for him to sit on the ornate chair. The house was filled with antiques and portraits of ballet dancers and winter scenes.  
“My aunt decorated the place which is probably for the best,” Ludmilla said. “If my uncle had his way it would just be full of exercise equipment.”

Ivan gave a smirk at her comment. Ludmilla sat as far from Ivan as possible and broke the ice by talking and taking out a cigarette. Ivan kindly relieved her of her lighter and lit the cigarette for her. “An Officer and gentleman,” Ludmilla said. Ivan was confused. “It's an American film.”  
“How have you seen it then?” Ivan asked.  
“A lover of mine works in the black market,” she said evenly. Upon a slight look of disappointment on Ivan's face she amended. “Former lover.” Now. This Captain Drago was incredibly handsome and from what her uncle said was quite talented. She didn't miss the enamored look that he gave her. She wasn't yet sure what to make of him but wanted to keep her options open just in case.  
Ivan knew what to make of her. She was beautiful and a dedicated athlete. Perhaps he could see her beyond training.

The door opened and three men entered. “Ah Drago,” Vobet said. “I see you met my niece, Ludmilla.”  
“Yes I have,” Ivan said.  
“He is quite the chatterer,” Ludmilla said ironically.  
Volpet pointed at the two men next to him. “This is Igor Sergei Rimsky, he is the trainer for the boxing team and this is Nikolai Koloff, he helps promote our athletes in front of the world.”  
Koloff nodded. “Yes and Vobet said you are a good fighter but we want to see for ourselves. We would like to see you in a few sparring matches.”  
Ivan stood. “Alright who do you wish me to fight?”  
The three men and woman exchanged patronizing grins. Koloff spoke for them. “That was not what we had in mind, Comrade Drago.”

Ivan's mouth dropped open at the sight of the gym before him. It looked more like a science lab with all of the machines and electronics. Ivan curiously touched a few. “All of this is for boxing?”  
They grinned. Koloff said, “They are for all of our athletes. We want to create the ultimate athletes, those that can never be beaten.”  
Rimsky pointed out some of the uses for the machines. One would monitor his heart rate. Another would be used to test his endurance. Still another would reveal the magnitude of his punches and many other uses that he wasn't sure about.  
“It seems almost like you are training machines rather than men,” Ivan said in admiration.  
“Exactly,” Koloff replied.

They wanted to see how well he boxed. He sparred against a machine opponent. Ivan demonstrated his ability and quickly beat the robot.  
The three men stood silent as Ivan faced them from inside the ring. “What do you think?” Vobet asked.  
Koloff looked to Rimsky who nodded. Ludmilla's expression showed equal parts surprise, admiration, and lust. Definitely keep him interested, Ludmilla thought.  
“Comrade Vobet, I think we have the Soviet Union's best boxer,” Koloff said.

The days were filled with training in the high tech gym. Ivan ran laps, sparred, and, exercised while the machines monitored his progress. He could see that he improved from his amateur status. He was impressed.  
He also spent a lot of time with Ludmilla. After a rigorous training session, he worked up the courage to ask her out for a drink at a cafe. His heart fluttered when she said yes.  
Ludmilla did most of the talking during their dates. Ivan realized that they had much in common. Like him, she too was an orphan. But unlike him, her parents died in a car accident when she was 11 months old and she didn't remember them. Also unlike Ivan, she was raised not cruelly in a state run orphanage but lovingly by her then-childless Aunt Tatiana and Uncle Sergei. In fact it was Tatiya Tania, a former Olympic swimmer herself, who taught her niece how to swim.  
“They wanted me to be an athlete and a gold medalist so I am,” she said with pride. Ivan couldn't help but be impressed.

Ivan showed respect to her aunt and uncle. While Sergei boasted about his niece's boyfriend, Tatiana looked him up and down skeptically. She was a full figured woman but she still had the demeanor of a retired athlete. Her hair was blond and was tied back in a severe bun. She asked Ivan many questions about his family and background.  
Sergei and Tania followed their niece and her boyfriend as they walked outside. “He will definitely be one that people will remember.” Sergei said.  
Tania looked at the bracelet her husband gave her for her birthday. “He could do quite well for us. Money, fame, power.”  
Sergei said. “I was thinking of the large picture. Here we have this young man came from nowhere, was nothing: orphaned, a street rat, grunt soldier, part of the system. Then we transform him into a superhuman, the best. He is proof that the system works and the world will see that. It is a benefit for the Soviet Union and for him.”  
Tania nodded dryly. “And the endorsements and recognition that Vobet Gymnasium receives by association in discovering him has nothing to do with it.”  
Sergei nodded. He couldn't deny it. He fingered his wife's bracelet. “There are many benefits and incentives in linking ourselves and Lyuda to a famous athlete.”  
Tania laughed looking at her niece.They waved at the younger couple who waved back. Tania giggled at the childish “go away” expression on her niece's face. Tania already could tell that Ivan followed the girl around like a puppy. “I think Lyuda is doing a good job of linking herself to him on her own.”

Ivan gave a polite half wave to Sergei. He was amused as Ludmilla waved grandly but made a disgusted face like a small child physically bidding them to go away. “Not much privacy,” Ivan asked dryly.  
“Sometimes they are worse than the KGB when it comes to lyubovniki” Ludmilla said. Lovers.  
“Afraid that I may steal your virtue,” Ivan kissed her boldly in front of Sergei and Tania.  
“Under the circumstances,” Ludmilla said placing her hand down his abdomen. “I think they are more worried that I would steal yours.”

A clap of thunder filled the sky. Ivan and Ludmilla looked up as rain pelted down. “We better go inside,” Ivan said. He watched as Sergei and Tania walked back into the house. Ludmilla and Ivan were about to follow but Ivan gently held her back. “Or we could avoid the watchdogs.” The two lovers laughed as they ran into the rain.  
Ivan and Ludmilla ran hand in hand in the torrential downpour smiling and laughing. “Come this way,” Ludmilla said. She led him to an abandoned theater. She was about to open the door when Ivan held her by the waist and kissed her. They kissed again as they fell into the door. “Come in here.” Ludmilla said.

Ivan followed her into the theater. Ivan looked around in amazement at the old film posters of such titles like the Battleship Potemkin, Ivan the Terrible, and Solaris. He could see the walls peeling and smell the mildew. “How do you know this place?” Ivan asked.  
“A lover of mine used to take me here,” Ludmilla said.  
“Black Market Bela,” Ivan asked remembering the boy who gave her American films.  
“No another one Jerzy,” Ludmilla said. Upon Ivan's long face she reassured him. “Oh we are no longer together.” As of last week.

She took Ivan's hand and led him to the wall. His back was pushed against it as Ludmilla hungrily kissed him. “You are quite experienced,” Ivan guessed.  
Ludmilla smirked. “My first time was when I was 15 during the Olympics in Montreal. It was with a boy on the Canadian team. We sneaked into the pool after hours.” She slowly unbuttoned her blouse then reached for Ivan's sweater.

Ivan pulled away. He felt himself grow cold. Unwanted sexual memories filled him. Berchenko stood on top laughing as the young boy lay like a stiff board underneath letting the orphanage director do whatever he wanted.  
“It is a bit early for this.” He buttoned up her blouse not wanting to admit the real reason.  
“Are you experienced?” Ludmilla smirked. Ivan turned his back on her. His silent response was her answer. “You a soldier? I thought all you soldiers had your prostitutes or your village girls. You mean to tell me there is no half-Afghan child with extraordinary muscle, blond hair, and blue eyes wondering where his father is?”  
“Don't believe everything you hear,” Ivan said.  
“Or is it that I am the wrong gender,” Ludmilla quipped. “Perhaps it was the soldiers themselves you are more interested in.” Once again Ivan didn't answer. “Well which is it do you fuck women or don't you?”  
“You are very vulgar,” Ivan said.  
“And I want an answer,” Ludmilla demanded.

“Alright,” Ivan replied. “I will tell you. You are not my first time, far from. My first was when I was 9 years old. It was with the director of our orphanage, the male director of our orphanage. I hated it. I hated that he had that much power over me. I felt sick, dirty, and violated. No one should take advantage of a child like that. He did that quite often and not just to me but to others. I froze. I froze, and that was the only way I could cope. He took advantage of me until I was 16 and left for the military school. I have not had sex with anyone since then not even during the War.  
You ask who I am attracted to. I suppose women. I have those feelings but don't act on them. I still freeze. I feel that way for you now that rush that I would like to have you, but I won't. There is nothing wrong. I am just….careful.” 

Ludmilla at first looked serious but seemed distracted. Ivan wondered if she even comprehended. “Maybe you just need someone to guide you.” She unbuttoned her blouse once more then worked on his trousers.  
Ivan wanted to resist. He still felt frozen like he used to but something inside happened. He felt a sliver of longing that went beyond that. As she did her work, Ivan felt aroused. He lifted her head and kissed her. He then lay down next to her.  
A half hour later, Ludmilla lay in Ivan's arms. The two were nude. “How was that?” Ivan asked.  
“Star pupil,” Ludmilla said as she kissed him again.

Ivan's training and developing relationship with Ludmilla gave Ivan a sense of hope. He accepted everything his trainers gave him.  
Nearly everything. When they suggested that his moniker be The Siberian Express or The Siberian Bull, Ivan objected. “I am not from Siberia. I am from Kapotnya. I have never even been to Siberia except for military training.”  
His three handlers glared at the boxer's objection. For a moment Ivan felt that his never having been to Siberia could be easily rectified.  
Koloff explained that the moniker is simply a promotional tool. “Comrade Drago, it has to be easily remembered. No one will remember The Kapotnya Cat or some such,” he and the others laughed. Ivan didn't. “For example,the American boxer, Apollo Creed calls himself the Count of Monte Fisto. You do not think that he is a real count do you?” Another laugh. “Or that the Italian Stallion Rocky Balboa is a real stallion?” More laughter. Ivan had the distinct feeling that they were making fun of him. “We have to convey your strength, your power like a locomotive. That you are relentless like a bull and that you are as harsh, and as cold and unforgiving as the winters in Siberia.”

A more serious disagreement occurred later. One day Ivan trained like usual, but next to Rimsky, Koloff, and Ludmilla, a doctor appeared one that Ivan had never seen before.  
He held a needle in his hand and gave a slight prick on Ivan's arm before he jumped back in confusion.  
“What is this?” he asked.  
“It's an anabolic steroid,” the doctor, a man named Valentin Popov said.  
Ivan moved away in surprise. “I don't need steroids.” He said. He could understand if he was underweight but he wasn't.  
“It will increase your skills,” Rimsky said.  
“You said so yourself that my skills are impressive,” Ivan said confused.  
“Impressive for the Army, maybe even for the Soviet Union” Koloff said as if Ivan Drago was a slow witted child. “That is not enough. You have to be the best in the whole world.”  
Ivan said. “”The Olympics Committee would never allow this!”  
“They have looked the other way before,” the promoter replied. “They always look the other way. We also have ways of making sure you pass any examination and they are unable to detect it.”  
Rimsky nodded. “You want to win then you must do everything you can to win.”  
Ivan stood up in fury. He looked around at this technological gym. He should have known there would be a catch. “Not if I cannot win on my own terms.”

He marched out of the building with Ludmilla close behind. “Ivan they are right. We have to be the best athletes and we have to prove it to the world. All of the Soviet athletes have done this at one time or another. It doesn't hurt. It gives you an adrenaline rush like you never have before. You feel a power from within like you could take on the whole world.”  
Ivan whirled around to face his girlfriend. Her tone suggested that she had a first hand experience with the drug. “Did they give them to you?” He asked.  
Ludmilla at first didn't answer but upon Ivan's look changed her mind. “I stopped taking them two years ago. They wanted me to stop so I could get them out of my system and eventually give birth to healthy children.”  
Ivan was confused so she continued. “They aren't just training us. They want to raise another generation of athletes. They want champions. You have to prove that you can win and best all competitors. We all do and to that we must make sacrifices.”  
Ivan stood next to this woman. She was so certain. Ivan wished he could be. Ludmilla spoke again. “You have two choices. You could be a regular boxer, train on your own, and be nothing more than ordinary, mediocre, a weakling, one who fights in taverns for coin or drink or you can be the best, strong, victorious, worshipped and admired by the whole world, and maybe even become the man that I see myself marrying.”  
Ivan was agog. He secretly wanted to take his relationship with Ludmilla to a higher level, but it never occurred to him that she felt the same way. Ludmilla held out her hand. Ivan took her hand and walked with her back into the gym.

From training to the matches. Ivan was quite relieved that the Army gave him permission to finish his military time with his boxing career. It made sense. It was a win for them as well that the premier Russian athlete was from their ranks. That he wore his uniform was a recruitment tool for potential young soldiers.  
Ivan faced his opponents with an ice cold demeanor that intimidated them. Sometimes he intimidated himself. He ended fights rather quickly and there were some opponents who he put into comas.  
Ludmilla was right about the steroids. Whenever he took them he did feel unbeatable and powerful like he could master the whole universe.

He also could feel the extra pressure, everyone: his handlers, the press, even his girlfriend put on him. He was ordered to break his opponents and win every time. If he failed, his handlers implied that he could be imprisoned in Siberia on trumped up charges or he could be an outcast removed from his boxing status and be left to rot in obscurity like his father. For Ivan the message was clear: Break them or we will break you.

Finally, the Olympics came. Ivan felt all of the eyes of the world bored themselves into him as he faced his opponents in the Los Angeles stadium. This was his first visit to America and with the little he had seen he was not impressed. It was loud, flashy, and given to excess everything that he had been taught to believe it was.  
He won and the moment that the officials put the gold medal around his neck and the Soviet Union National Anthem played was one he would never forget. As he sang along with the Anthem, his eyes met Ludmilla's as she grinned, her silver medal, won earlier, around her neck. Indeed it was the proudest moment of his life.

Second proudest. At the closing ceremony the two joined their fellow Russian athletes in the circle, smiling and cheering. As the Olympic torch went out, Ivan leaned over and whispered in her ear, “When we return to Moscow, will you marry me?”. She smiled, nodded, and kissed him. Their medals clinked together as their bodies joined in a loving embraced.

After the Olympics, Ivan and Ludmilla were married in a private ceremony. Both were Atheists so they didn't bother with a church wedding. Just a few minutes in front of a justice with her family, Rimsky, Popov, and Koloff present. That night, the two consummated their love voraciously and passionately, two medal athletes bonded together by vows to love and honor each other.

His success and marriage brought a whole new change as Ivan received more publicity than he was prepared for. He didn't like to speak much or be a public spectacle so he left the talking to either Koloff or Ludmilla who ended her swimming career to take charge of her husband's finances and to assist Koloff in promotion.  
While technically the Eastern Bloc forbade its athletes from competing on the professional level, the government paid handsomely if one could be shown as the perfect symbol of the Soviet athletic superiority. The result was that Ivan found himself very wealthy or as wealthy as the state allowed. He never cared much about money. Instead he preferred to live as modestly and austerely as possible.  
Ludmilla however enjoyed herself. The two moved to a larger apartment in Khavamoniki at her insistence. She began to wear jewelry and fancier clothes, and practiced several other languages like French and English so she could promote her husband worldwide.

She confessed that she had seen the American television programs while in Los Angeles and Montreal during the Olympics and through her black market ex. Her favorite was Dynasty. “I would love to live like those women,” she said gushing.  
“My wife the secret capitalist,” he teased as he kissed her in bed.  
She laughed and kissed him back getting ready to mount his large body. “Who knows maybe after the international professional fame, more money will follow.”  
Ivan agreed, “ Da, Who knows?”

An earmark to this sudden change in Ivan's status was the powerful and influential people that began to rub elbows with him. He was invited to various social functions, but he felt uncomfortable and shy during them. He didn't speak until he was spoken to and only in monosyllables. This caused some dissension between Ludmilla and himself.  
“Ivan could you at least pretend to enjoy yourself?” She asked.  
Rather than answering back, Ivan didn't say anything. He just reluctantly attended the social events considering it another duty.  
For Ludmilla's part, she willingly spoke at these events on behalf of her introverted husband. She knew that he had potential to be a world champion and she dearly loved being at the arm of a successful up and coming man. He was handsome, strong, and while not overly emotional was kind in his own way. He did whatever she told him to and bought whatever she wanted. Once she got him past his early sexual abuse, he proved to be a passionate lover.

But there was an inherent dullness that she felt in her married life especially with a man who hardly ever spoke and wasn't always intellectually bright just a blunt instrument.  
Plus she became aware how much lower Ivan was to her. Alright yes in the Soviet Union everyone was supposed to be equal, but like many others Ludmilla was no fool. She knew that no matter the ideology, some people were always going to be considered a higher echelon than others whether people admitted it or not whether by money, status, power, or intelligence. She knew that she was ahead of her husband in intelligence, status, and power. All she needed was to be ahead of him financially.  
Ludmilla could out think circles around him. It didn't take long for her to begin purposely covering up secrets just to see what she could get away with such as hiding her and Nikolai's flirtations and sexual byplay or spending just a little above her means. Ivan never said anything and she doubted that he noticed.

It was at one of the social events that Nikolai introduced the Dragos to his younger brother, Yevgeny. “He may just be an attorney now but he is on his way to becoming an ambassador.” Nikolai said with pride. “His circle is rather wide and influential.”  
Yevgeny smiled. “Yes Nikolai makes a point of watching people beat each other in the ring, I prefer to watch them beat each other at the Politburo.” Many of the guests laughed. He shook Ivan's hand in a way that was overly friendly but also false. “This is the pugilist I have heard so much about,” he said.  
“I am a boxer,” Ivan corrected.  
Yevgeny smirked and Nikolai and Ludmilla laughed, though Ludmilla's was more embarrassed. “You must be one of the smarter sportsmen,” the attorney jibed. “The terms pugilist and boxer are one and the same.”

Ivan glared embarrassed at his error but did not speak. “Not much for words are you,” Yevgeny said.  
“My husband prefers to be a silent intimidating presence,” Ludmilla said.  
“Probably for the best,” the lawyer quipped. Upon Ivan’s stare, Yevgeny stepped aside as if to physically change the subject. He then looked at the blond woman. “It appears that you are his spokesman,” Yevgeny said. “Comrade Drago has a very lovely voice.” 

Ludmilla laughed as Yevgeny kissed her hand. “You never told me your brother was so charming, Nikolai.” Ludmilla remarked.  
“You never told us you had a brother,”Ivan pointed out. “How did you know?”  
Ludmilla laughed. “Ivan, Nikolai and I work together. We do talk on occasion.” Sometimes more.  
Ludmilla smiled at Yevgeny. He was average height, dark haired handsome in his own way but in a bookish academic way. She glanced between him and her husband, two completely different men but both could do different things for her. It might be best to keep both interested.

“It is a family trait,” Nikolai boasted. “You have seen the Games?” Nikolai asked his brother.  
“I have,” Yevgeny said. “We are rather fascinated and not just myself but the Premier's office as well.” Ludmilla was amazed. Ivan's eyes widened.  
Nikolai was smug. “I told you my brother is quite influential.”  
Yevgeny continued. “While he is impressed with Captain Drago's medal, when all is said and done the Olympics are an amateur athletics competition. Premier Gorbachev wants to see if Drago can beat a boxer on a professional level. Can he fight a heavyweight champion like Apollo Creed or even the current champion Rocky Balboa?”  
The Dragos and Nikolai exchanged glances. “Oh he can,” Ludmilla said verbally expressing Ivan's confidence.

A few months after his Olympic win, and after much legal wrangling and sociopolitical gymnastics, Koloff made arrangements for Ivan Drago to go to America to challenge the current heavyweight champion of the world, the American Rocky Balboa. “Are you ready for this?” Rimsky asked the young boxer.  
Ivan punched the training ball as the screen showed a rating of 1850 lbs. “I am ready,” he declared.

If Ivan had intense pressure on him before, it was nothing compared to what he felt now. At the dinner before they were supposed to leave for America, Ivan was tense and nervous. Nikolai couldn't stop boasting about him talking about what a wonderful victory it will be. Ludmilla and her aunt squealed with delight about the jewelry and clothing they purchased with Ivan's earnings. Vobet answered questions dropping the name of his gymnasium every chance he got and displayed the cardboard cutout of Drago that would stand in the foyer of the gym.  
Ivan felt suffocated these days especially around Nikolai, Sergei, and Tania. As much as Ivan got along with his aunt and uncle by marriage, and respected his promoter they were starting to remind him of parasites or bloodsucking leeches that didn't mind living off the fame of others. He looked over at Ludmilla, but she did not meet his gaze. Was she the same way? 

Nikolai gently tapped his fork to the glass for a toast. “I think we are all in agreement that we have found our champion. He has been educated, molded, shaped to fit our specifications and is the living symbol of what the Soviet athlete should be and when he defeats Rocky Balboa, he will prove to the world. Everyone will remember the name Ivan Drago! Zazdarovje. ” The other diners returned the cheer.

Ivan felt extremely uncomfortable with the attention. He felt it even more so when one of the guests said to Ludmilla. “Now all you need is to have your child become a champion and you will create a legacy.”  
“Oh we don't have children,” Ludmilla said. “Still it would be a wonderful thought to have any future child succeed in their athletic pursuits as much as their father and mother did in ours.”  
Ivan lowered his head. He felt like he was some sort of a display, a thing, for everyone to gawk at. Now Ludmilla was planning on doing the same thing to another generation provided that they had one. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

While the party wound down, Ivan stood outside the building looking up at the night sky. Ludmilla opened the door to see her husband standing in silence. “You know Ivan it is considered impolite to behave standoffish at a party especially one where you are the guest of honor.”  
“I needed fresh air,” Ivan said.  
Ludmilla grinned and sauntered closer to her husband. “Just think in a few weeks time, you will return with a belt and a reputation as the greatest boxer in the world.”  
“It won't be a real championship,” he reminded her. “I cannot claim the belt or the title.” The professional boxing commission and the Soviet government saw to that.  
“But the prestige will change that,” Ludmilla reminded him. “Once your name is heard, our government will clamor to join the professional circuit. All you have to do is win.”

“All we have to do is go over there you mean,” Ivan said. “You are celebrating too early, all of you are. Rocky Balboa hasn't even agreed yet. Suppose we go over there and he refuses.”  
“He won't refuse,” Ludmilla said. “He's a boxer. Would you refuse if someone challenged you?” Ivan couldn't argue so she continued. “Why are you so tense, Ivanushka? You are certain to win.”  
“Suppose I don't,” Ivan said. “Suppose I lose.”  
Ludmilla rolled her eyes. Sometimes athletes had to be coddled told what they wanted to hear. “You won't lose, Ivan.”  
“What if I do?” Ivan said. “What happens? I get sent to Siberia? I am abandoned? What about you, Lyuda? Would you stay with me if I lose?”

“You won't,” Ludmilla said more determined. Time to give a cold splash of reality. “Ivan, do you really think there is even a possibility that you would lose? Do you think people like Nikolai and my uncle waste their time on a guess? As much training, equipment has been used? The drugs that you have been given? The Olympics proved nothing to you? You had been monitored since your time in the Army. Do you think that my Dyadya would have recruited you if there was even the slightest chance that you could ever be defeated? It was all a plan.”

Ivan sighed realizing that like in the orphanage and the Army, he was once again being used for someone else's gain. Even the sole thing he excelled at now would be tainted by the manipulations of others. Everything was planned. Ivan looked to his wife. “And you? You were part of the plan?”  
“I was a benefit of it,” Ludmilla said. “Ivan you are still an excellent sportsman. No one disputes that. My uncle would not be interested if he did not think you were great. We just wanted to make sure that the advantage was always on our side.”  
Ludmilla rubbed her husband's shoulders. “Now come on, Ivanushka, let's celebrate before we leave for America.”  
Ivan let go. “Not tonight, I need to prepare.” Before Ludmilla could protest. Ivan turned on his heels and left apologizing.

Ludmilla fumed. She turned around and was about to return to the party when a whistle caught her attention. “Trouble with your husband?” Yevgeny Koloff asked dryly.  
Ludmilla could tell he was drunk. “It is not your concern.”  
“Well if I were with a beautiful woman like you, I would never leave her alone at a party,” Yevgeny said.  
“He has much to do in the morning,” Ludmilla said in defense of her husband.  
“Of course big fight, big match, big nerves,” Yevgeny mocked. “You know without those muscles Ivan Drago is no different than the doorman at this club. Just a common muscular half-wit with plenty of good publicity. Oh the Athletics have done quite a bit for us, I will admit. We are known throughout the world for them but to waste all of your time on someone like him, someone so stoic, so dull, so common. It's almost embarrassing.”  
Ludmilla was about to turn away again when Yevgeny's words made her stop. He said what she had been thinking all along. When it came right down to it there really was nothing special about Ivan Drago at all. 

“You know the only reason he is worth anything is because of you,” Yevgeny said. “You speak for him. You build him up and what do you get out of it?”  
“I get my share,” Ludmilla objected.  
“But clearly not enough,” Yevgeny said. “Not enough money, not enough attention, not enough power.”  
“No not enough,” Ludmilla agreed.  
“But I suppose that is often the case of the wife of a professional athlete,” Yevgeny said. “One who deserves more than her husband is willing to give her.” He approached her but then was about to turn around.  
“Yevgeny,” Ludmilla said. The lawyer turned around to face her. “Do one thing for me.”  
“Anything,” Yevgeny said.  
“I would like to spend the remainder of the night not talking about my husband,” Ludmilla said as she leaned over to kiss him.  
“What husband?” Yevgeny asked as he held Ludmilla by the waist and led her to his car.

It was a surprise that Ivan would not battle Balboa but the former champion Apollo Creed. Ivan viewed Creed's matches against various opponents particularly his two against Balboa. Creed was an impressive fighter it was true: quick, fast, and was able to achieve his wins with sharp movements and quick cuts. But he was old and only recently out of retirement.  
He was also flashy and given to bombast and show. Ivan recognized that with his first match against Balboa in which he arrived dressed as George Washington. He appeared to underestimate his opponents. That conceit could prove to be a downfall.

Ivan's assessment of Creed was proven correct at the press conference. While Ludmilla and Koloff engaged in verbal fights with Creed, and Creed volleyed back, Ivan sized him up.  
He was such a loudmouthed fool that he refused to see that he could ever be defeated. Ivan simmered with hatred for the man, who to him seemed to symbolize all of America's decadence. He ripped the cardboard cutout hoping that he would do the same to Apollo Creed.

The opening of the exhibition was a joke, just like Creed, Ivan thought. The lights, the special effects, the dancing girls, the singer whom Ivan was told was James Brown the Godfather of Soul, and Creed dancing next to the bull wearing that red, white, and blue hat and cape. It was overwhelming and ridiculous.  
Ivan didn't know what to make of this bizarre spectacle that was less of a fight and more like a circus. Why didn't they just punch each other like they did in Russia instead of resorting to this foolish show?  
If Creed wanted to intimidate Ivan Drago with this jingoistic performance then it wasn't working. This decadent overblown display only proved Ivan right that Apollo was a fool for not taking this match seriously.

Only when they touched gloves and Apollo winced in pain at Ivan's strong hands did he show real fear and intimidation. “You will lose,” Ivan said stating a matter-of-fact that he knew would be correct.  
At first Ivan didn't realize what happened when he connected his final punch to Apollo Creed. He was so caught up in the ice cold rage that he always felt in the ring, that it didn't at first register what happened until he saw Creed fall and not rise again.

Later that night as Koloff, Ludmilla, and the others were celebrating, Ivan stared out the window of the hotel room and glanced out at the Las Vegas skyline.  
He had already received threatening looks from the hotel staff and found a message that simply said “Murderer” taped to their door. Ivan crumpled it up and threw it away. They also received so many threatening phone calls that Ivan took the phone off the hook.

He listened to the laughter and applause from the next room as Koloff complimented Ludmilla that her husband delivered on his promise. Ivan did not join them. He told them that he wanted to be alone to mentally prepare to battle Rocky Balboa who challenged Ivan for a rematch. So it appeared that Ivan Drago would fight the heavyweight champion of the world after all. Ivan should have been celebrating. But he wasn't.  
He couldn't get that image of Apollo Creed out of his mind. The final shaking as life left him, the blood around him, that stillness from a man who earlier was full of life and energy and never stopped talking or moving.  
He looked down at his hands, so strong so powerful. Less than 24 hours ago they killed a man. Ivan killed a man.  
He was an enemy Ivan told himself. He is no one to me. But he couldn't make himself believe it.

The door opened and Ludmilla entered very tipsy from the celebration. “Hello my victorious Ivanushka. Celebrating your win?”  
Ivan didn't answer. If she wanted to think that's what he was feeling then let her. After all he did win. He did prove that he was the strongest best boxer in the world. His fight with Rocky Balboa would only confirm it.

Ludmilla didn't say anything. Instead she just undid his trousers and his boxers. She knelt down and began performing oral sex.  
Ivan looked downward giving a surprised and aroused moan. He knelt down and kissed his wife undoing her blouse. The two made intense love.  
Later that night Ivan and Ludmilla lay in bed their arms wrapped around each other. Ludmilla lay asleep her head on top of her husband's chest.  
Ivan thought once more about the match against Apollo Creed. He felt a wave of emotion coming through but he stifled it. Instead he thought of Rocky Balboa and how he was looking forward to beating him.

No Ivan Drago did not cry over Apollo Creed. To him, he was his enemy. But he never could get Creed's dying body out of his mind.

Author's Notes:  
1\. I drew on various sources for Ivan's experiences during the Soviet Afghanistan War. Even the anecdote about Russian soldiers hiding alcohol in other liquids is based on an article. For the Afghan perspective on the War, I highly recommend the book The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini.

2\. Alexei Baluk's name comes from a character from the video game Rocky Legends. I never played it and am not a gamer. I don't know if the game matches up with the movies but I thought the fans might like this little tip of the hat.

3\. The line where Ivan refers to himself as an “indestructible master of war” comes from the Disturbed song Indestructible which was a huge inspiration for writing about Ivan's time in Afghanistan. Also there is an obvious reference to another Dolph Lundgren character when after he is first given steroids, Ivan feels powerful like he could “master the universe.”

4\. The line “why didn't they just punch each other like in Russia instead of resorting to this foolish show?” Is a variation of a line from the Nostalgia Critic's review of Rocky IV. Critic (mimicking Drago watching “Living in America”): “I don't know what you guys normally do but in Russia we just punch one another”


	3. Viktor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout of Ivan's loss to Rocky begins, the Dragos marriage begins to decline and Viktor is born.

The Unmistakable Fire  
A Rocky IV/Creed II Fic  
By Auburn Red  
III. Viktor

Ivan smiled at his newborn son wrapped in his arms. Ludmilla was asleep. Because of the difficult delivery, they had pumped her so full of drugs that she was out cold. No matter she would wake up later. In the meantime, Ivan could enjoy this little miracle that he held by himself.  
He was dark haired but Ivan had no doubt that this was his son.The dark hair and eyes were those of his father. The infant's grandfather.

The small red faced infant opened his eyes and looked about ready to cry. Ivan gently shushed him and held him close. He was so small so fragile. He barely covered one of his father's large hands. Ivan was almost afraid that he would carelessly break him. He kissed the top of his son's head. “I won't break you,” he vowed.  
He remembered his mother's words about how he had to find his own victory. “You are my victory,” he whispered to the newborn as the boy gave a pleased sound. Viktor that would be his name. Viktor Ivanovich Drago. Ivan would do everything in his power to make the boy worthy of that name.

Ludmilla woke up from her drug induced slumber to see her husband whispering to the little one. It was almost hilarious to watch the intimidating giant who sent fear down his rival's spines with just a mere stare cooing to an infant. “Ivan,” she said.  
Ivan kissed his wife. “How are you feeling?” He asked.  
“Terrible,” she sighed. “Weak.”  
“You are wonderful,” he said. “So is Viktor.”  
“Is that his name?” Ludmilla asked.  
“It seems appropriate,” Ivan suggested. “But if you would prefer something else.”  
“No that's fine,” Ludmilla said. “It makes sense. He is the only victory you have had all year.”  
Ivan winced at his wife's sharp criticism. He really didn't need it now. “Hold him please,” he asked.

“What for?” Ludmilla asked. Ivan shook his head slightly confused at his wife's lack of enthusiasm. It was on the tip of his tongue to say because you're his mother.  
He handed Viktor back to his wife. “You aren't taking my picture now are you?” She asked just as Ivan took out a camera. “Ivan you can't. I look terrible.”  
“You never looked more beautiful,” Ivan said.  
Ludmilla shook her head and laughed but complied. Ivan was usually not one for sentiment but she supposed that parenthood melted the hardest of hearts. She held Viktor as Ivan snapped a photo of her and the infant.  
Ivan then returned the camera back to his pocket and relieved the infant from his wife. They sat in silence so many harsh words once said now hovering in the air. Ivan hoped that this would be a new fresh start for the three of them. Ironically, Ludmilla wanted the same but by different means.

“Dr. Davidov told you didn't he?” Ludmilla asked.  
Ivan nodded. “You must rest and not think about it.”  
“But now that my thyroid is a mess and not to be able to have any more,” Ludmilla said. Her pregnancy and Viktor's delivery took a tremendous toll on her body. The doctor told her that more children were not possible.  
“Then we have one and he is just fine,” Ivan said. “It makes him even more special.”  
Ludmilla's eyes filled. “It's the drugs really,” she insisted. She couldn't understand. Why did she have two completely different men in her life? One who had much promise and was now a proven failure but clearly loved that child. The other a political success who promised her a life of untold wealth but wanted nothing to do with the child. Why couldn't she have all that with one man? Why in the world couldn't Ivan deliver on his promise? That would make her life simpler. She would be married to a success and she could have fun on the side occasionally.  
She remembered when the doctor told her that she was pregnant. At first she was in denial but then she accepted it. She hadn't used contraceptives the nights that she slept with Yevgeny or Ivan. The timing couldn't be worse. She slept with both so close to each other, one before the match against Apollo Creed and one after. She wasn't even sure who the father was.  
She could have an abortion. She had one before when she was 16. But she decided to discuss it with the father first, whichever one he was.

She first decided to tell Ivan. She was concerned as she saw him running laps focusing preparing for his match against Rocky Balboa. KGB officials reported that Balboa was doing the same chopping wood, lifting hay bales, even running across mountain tops. The last report stated that Balboa's wife, Adrian (a frumpish American with no sense of style, Ludmilla thought) had arrived.  
If Ivan was still nervous about his chances of beating Balboa he didn't say. He just trained and worked hard. Ludmilla was confident that he would win. The machines made his endurance even stronger and he was pumped with so many steroids that it was a wonder that he didn't overdose. There is no way he would lose. Might as well add one more bit of dessert to the celebratory meal. To let the future Heavyweight Champion of the World know that he was going to be a father.

Ivan wiped the sweat off his face at first still in the zone when she told him. It took a half second but when it did, the biggest smile spread across his face. She had literally never seen such joy on his face. “A father,” he said.Then he did something else uncharacteristic: He picked Ludmilla up, swung her around, and laughed. “How many months are you?”  
“One almost two,” Ludmilla answered.  
Ivan's face had a sense of wonder. “Really? That means he was conceived-”  
“- while we were in America yes,” Ludmilla replied.  
“This is a second chance,” Ivan said kissing his wife.  
“I beg your pardon?” Ludmilla asked.  
“Oh it's nothing,” Ivan said. He could not tell her that he was still haunted by Apollo Creed's death. The shouting. The people running around. Rocky and Duke's desperate actions. Mary Anne's wail. The shaking body. The blood.  
Now to find the child was conceived after Apollo Creed died? Ivan thought how fitting that timing was. Less than a day after ending one life, Ivan was responsible for creating another. In a way Ivan hoped that the baby’s life would somehow make up for the loss of Apollo's.  
“He will have a wonderful future ahead of him,” Ivan promised.  
“With a victorious father,” Ludmilla said.

Ludmilla had less success when she told Yevgeny. Actually, she made one mistake: she told Ivan in front of Nikolai and Nikolai Koloff told the press. It wasn't big news in light of the upcoming match. (The doctors even said Ludmilla wouldn't be showing by then so it wouldn't be noticeable.) But it was still enough to get tongues wagging and to reach the ears of an ambitious young lawyer with sights set in the political arena.  
“I wanted to tell you first,” Ludmilla insisted.  
“Well my brother saved you the trouble,” Yevgeny said dryly as he handed Ludmilla a set of jewelry that he purchased for her. “What does Death from Above think of all this?”  
“Don't ever call him that name in front of him,” Ludmilla warned. “He hates it. It's just as bad as calling him Ivanushka-Durachok.”  
“Well he earned it didn't he?” Yevgeny retorted.  
“Anyway he's overjoyed,” Ludmilla said. “When he's not training, he is selecting furniture and other things for the infant. Right now his first priority is the match against Balboa. Second the child. Though I have a feeling the child will move ahead afterwards. Last me.”  
“What is the matter with that man?” Yevgeny said.  
“Exactly,” Ludmilla said missing his faint sarcasm.

“Lyuda, I have to ask are you certain that it is his?” Yevgeny asked.  
“I don't know,” Ludmilla said honestly. “If it were yours what would you do? Would you claim it?”  
Yevgeny looked serious. “You know I can't claim it as mine while you are married to Drago. We are all public figures. The scandal would be too great. It would ruin all of us and if word gets around that I am sleeping with Ivan Drago's wife and is potentially the father of his wife's child well-” Ludmilla didn't miss the look of petrified terror on her lover's face.  
“Coward,” Ludmilla hissed. “Suppose I don't claim it as yours. Suppose it's Ivan's. If nothing else I claim it as his. Ivan wouldn't dare challenge that. He is too excited about the prospect. Suppose I divorce him then.”  
“You can't divorce him while you are pregnant,” Yevgeny said. “It's still a scandal and you will receive nothing from it. All financial gains go to him.”  
“To him?” Ludmilla said angrily. “I earned that money just as much as he did! Speaking for him, promoting him, going from one press conference after another! I worked twice as hard as he did!”  
Privately, Yevgeny thought that Ivan Drago would probably dispute that claim but he didn't want to anger his mistress. “I am afraid so.”  
“So I'm stuck with him,” Ludmilla said. “That durachok?”  
“I'm afraid so for at least nine months,” Yevgeny said. Ludmilla looked crestfallen but he tilted his chin. “Remember there is still the big match against Balboa.”  
“How could I forget?” Ludmilla said. Once Ivan won, her affair with Yevgeny Koloff will fade into the background. True she would still be stuck married to Ivan but as famous and rich as they will be after the match, it won't matter. He would be too busy training, boxing, and probably caring for that unplanned interruption that just made Ludmilla's life more difficult. He wouldn't notice if Ludmilla worked late, missed appointments, and scheduled late night meetings with Yevgeny Koloff. If not him, then others.

Both Ivan and Ludmilla had plans for a brighter future after the match. Unfortunately what neither of them counted on was a determined feisty Italian-American boxer from Philadelphia. Neither of them counted on Rocky Balboa.

The fight against Balboa was awful. Ivan started out strong but the more Rocky continued the more his opponent began to weaken. He had to admire the American's perseverance and tenacity. He had seen his fights against Creed and Clubber Lang, even the exhibition match against Thunder Lips. That's what they all spoke about Rocky Balboa's relentlessness and refusal to surrender. Being at the opposite end, Ivan could believe it.  
Of course admiration did not equal satisfaction with his loss. Ivan kept going over and over in his head what he could have done differently. Did he fake left instead of right? Should he have started strong not giving Balboa a chance to seize the advantage?  
All of the what ifs came through his mind. It angered him that he could be so well trained and at the same time so unprepared.  
Along with the anger came the hatred towards Rocky Balboa, another enemy. He humiliated him in his country. Ivan vowed if he saw him again he would repay that one thousand fold.

Not only did Ivan keep torturing himself with questions, doubt, and hatred towards his opponent but he received no support from his handlers, the Russian people or the press, even his own wife.  
Pravda called the match an embarrassment and a shame brought to the Soviet Union even wondering if somehow Ivan Drago was secretly working for the Americans to make Russian athletes look bad. They also didn't take too kindly to that, “I fight to win for me!” declaration. How dare he set himself above the Russian people?, they asked.

Everywhere he went, people spat in his direction. He was restricted from competing in major events only participating in a few smaller matches but the crowds booed him. One incident after a match, Ivan exited the gym as a couple of other athletes, Lev and Pyotr followed him.  
Ivan's head was swimming from the steroids and the tension. He barely listened as one said to the other loud enough for him hear, “Hey did you hear Ivan the Terrible was really Ivanushka-Durachok?” Lev said.  
Pyotr smirked. “Da, when he tried to fuck his wife she told him 'I fuck to win for me!’” They laughed.  
Ivan ignored them but they continued to wheedle him. “Maybe he could fuck Balboa then. He already did in the ring,” Lev said.  
Ivan turned around to face him. “Tishina,” Ivan warned. Silence.  
“Or what you'll kill me like you did Apollo Creed,” Lev mocked. “If you could even strike like that again Death From Above.”  
Lev didn't get any farther when Ivan punched him. Lev retaliated by punching him back. The two tumbled to the ground as Ivan continued to pummel him. They only stopped when the police appeared.

Sergei Vobet arrived to drive his nephew by marriage home. Ludmilla was on vacation at a health spa with her aunt. “I won't tell my niece,” Sergei said quietly.  
“Thank you, Sergei,” Ivan said.  
“I didn't do it for you,” Sergei snapped. “I did it for my niece, my family! She is going through a hard enough time as it is being married to such a failure!”  
“I know,” Ivan snapped.  
“Just so you know, my wife and I have removed your name and pictures from the gymnasium,” Sergei said. “We cannot afford to be stained with your reputation.”  
Ivan sighed. “I understand, I am sorry that I failed you and your family.”  
“You have failed all of us,” Sergei snapped. “We relied on you, Ivan. We expected better from you! What happened? The crowd cheered for him! You denounced the Politburo right in front of them! That's how much you failed! You were supposed to be proof that our system works!”  
“Then maybe I am proof that it doesn't,” Ivan suggested slowly.

Sergei slammed on the brakes and glared at the young man, his face red. “It has always worked before! The system is not the problem! You are!”  
Ivan glared. He wanted to toss him aside like he did Nikolai, but a few things stopped him namely he was his wife's uncle and that it wouldn't be very bright to inflict physical harm on the driver of a moving car.  
“Tania and I advised our niece to divorce you. For now she wishes to remain in the marriage but you are dead to us!,” Sergei declared. “Neither you nor your future offspring exist. My family will not be tainted with defeat!”  
“It will be her offspring as well,” Ivan argued.  
“I assure you that will not be her problem,” Sergei said as he dropped Ivan off at the apartment. He spat at Ivan's feet and drove away.

Ludmilla wasn't any help either. When she returned from the health spa, she glared at her husband. She said a few words in interviews that conveyed love and support but as soon as the reporters left, she withdrew her hand from his and snapped at him when he tried to kiss her. “You sleep over there,” she insisted pointing to a room across from hers.  
“You are my wife,” Ivan insisted.  
“In name only,” Ludmilla said and pointed at her abdomen. She was still angry that she was stuck married to the proven failure for life and had no way out. Well she was not going to be happy about it. “I play the devoted wife until this comes out of me! After that we go our separate ways.”  
“Lyuda please,” Ivan begged knowing that she was threatening to leave him. “I cannot lose you too. I love you.”  
Ludmilla gave a hard brittle laugh. “Oh Ivanushka,” his diminutive name sounded more like a curse word, a sneer rather than a term of endearment. “I do not love you. I cannot love a man that I do not respect.”

That fight was the beginning of more fights or rather fights that Ludmilla had towards Ivan. She railed and yelled at him for things he did and didn't do. She didn't use fists but she cut him down to size with her words.  
One particular fight occurred after another argument about money. She returned home sporting a pair of large diamond hoop earrings.  
“Isn't that a bit too extravagant,” Ivan asked.  
Ludmilla admired her reflection in the mirror. She still looked good and fit. Ivan was as well but the stress of the past few months was starting to wear on him. He was beginning to be lined around the eyes and his posture sagged. He went from God to mortal in a matter of months. “They didn't cost that much.” She said.  
“It is wasteful when we are about to become parents,” Ivan said. “We must watch our money.”  
Ludmilla turned around. “Really Ivan? Whose fault is that? You know we may have had more money if you had won!”  
“ I know it's my fault,” Ivan said. “I failed! I failed Russia, your family, and my wife! I admit it! I regret it! I would give anything to take back that night and stop Balboa from winning! I would give anything to keep Creed from dy- uh keep others from using Creed's death as propaganda! I would dearly love to continue boxing, face another opponent, and never have to hear about that night and to never have to hear the name Rocky Balboa again! If everyone will allow me to forget it, I could continue! What more can you possibly want from me?” 

“No one will ever let you forget that!” Ludmilla shouted “You aren't the only one who wishes they could take something back! What a fool I was to marry such a weakling of a man! If my dear Dyadya Sergei knew what a failure you would turn out to be, he would have left you in the Army, no put you back in Kapotnya, where you belong!”  
Like in the fights with his father, Ivan just accepted it never speaking never letting her know how hurt and angry she made him. He just stared which made Ludmilla laugh. “Ivan, your stare may intimidate others but it does nothing to me!”  
She also started on their unborn child. “This had better succeed! If I find that it is anything like it's weak and foolish father, I would drown it in the Moskva!”  
Ivan flashed at that. He clenched a fist and held it in the air. Ludmilla stepped back terrified realizing that she had gone too far.

He wanted to punch her but then he remembered how his father hurt his mother. How his punch caused her to miscarry and broke her heart and spirit. He also remembered Apollo's shaking body.  
He lowered his hand knowing that he would not could not be responsible for taking another life especially that of his unborn child and his mother.  
“I will never hurt you, Lyuda.” He said as he pulled his wife closer. Ludmilla accepted but did not return the embrace.  
Ivan would love his child and continue to love its mother.

“I want to divorce him,” Ludmilla argued with her lover. “You are a lawyer think of something!”  
“I told you if you divorce him now it will only create a scandal and you would suffer the consequences and you would end up with nothing!,” Yevgeny explained.  
“Then I will divorce him after the baby is born,” Ludmilla said. “I will take the baby and his earnings. He will be left with nothing. It is what he deserves after he humiliated me!” Me, Yevgeny mentally noted. Ivan humiliated Ludmilla not Russia.  
“You will be left without any money,” Yevgeny said. “Divorce laws would never permit you to receive money earned by your husband.”  
Ludmilla growled in frustration. “So I leave him I get nothing!”  
Yevgeny nodded. “It seems that way. The only way you can get his money is to steal it.”  
“What was that?” She asked. 

“Well you are in charge of your husband's finances,” Yevgeny said. “If you could put him up to giving it to you and you transfer it elsewhere well technically, it becomes the holdings of that party namely you.”  
Ludmilla considered. “I have done a few things here and there in the past. Nothing serious but in private I skimmed a little, withheld some by telling Ivan he made less than he did.”  
“He never checks,” Yevgeny inquired.  
“He's a fool and he trusts me so no,” Ludmilla said. “It will be good. I get his money and the child and I leave him.”  
Yevgeny started. “This is the second time you mentioned taking the child.”  
“Of course I will take it,” she said. “I am its mother.”  
“Lyuda, I love you. I want to give you everything and when you are free to wed, I look forward to becoming your husband. There is a lot more here than what you could ever get from Drago. I almost live like a Westerner as wealthy as I am.  
But nothing has changed in one respect. I cannot claim that child as my own,” Yevgeny said as Ludmilla was about to speak he interrupted. “Nor will I raise another man's child if it is his.”  
“So what are you saying?” Ludmilla asked. “I keep you but I lose my child?”  
“And if you keep your child then you lose me and everything I could offer you,” Yevgeny said.  
Ludmilla thought torn between the two options. When she was growing up, she read Anna Karenina several times. She had seen various film versions even the Hollywood versions. It never occurred to her that she would live that story in reality. Well she was not going to throw herself in front of a train for this. She would have to think and consider.

At first Ivan didn't think that his handlers had any issues. True, they reduced his time at the gym often leading him to workout at a regular gym. When he did work out there, Rimsky and Koloff ignored him often speaking to the younger boxers.  
He didn't realize the implications until one day, several months later, when he appeared ready to suit up and Rimsky told him that it wouldn't be necessary. Koloff wasn't there. He was the sort of man who preferred weddings to funerals. “ I am still allowed to train am I not?” he asked.  
“No Drago you are not permitted to train here,” Rimsky replied. “These facilities are closed to you as is the Soviet Athletics Program for now. You are officially suspended.”  
“For how long?” Ivan asked.  
“Until we see fit to reinstate you,” Rimsky said in a tone that seemed to suggest “ maybe never.”

Ivan gave a mirthless laugh. “That's ridiculous.” He was about to move forward but a pair of the younger boxers stopped him.  
Ivan looked around. The gym seemed smaller somehow what could it be? Then he realized what it was.  
The injections, drugs, even the table in which Dr. Popov administered the steroids were gone and so was Dr. Popov.  
“Where is Dr. Popov?” Ivan said. “I need my injection. You are still going to give me that at least?” He still received his daily injection. Sometimes that was the only positive release he had all day.  
Rimsky pretended to look confused. “Who is Dr. Popov? What injections? We don't give those to you.”  
Ivan couldn't believe it. Was he going insane? “Of course you do! You give them to me once a day now where are they and where is the doctor?”  
Rimsky glared and pushed himself forward gripping onto Ivan's arm. Not for nothing did Igor Sergei Rimsky train boxers. He himself had been an Olympic medalist back in the day.  
“I suggest you not mention those injections or anything of that nature ever again, not if you wish to keep boxing,” he commanded. “You are no longer welcome here, now leave before I have you thrown out!”  
Ivan's eyes flared. Igor Sergei Rimsky may have been a heavyweight boxing champion once but he was still a former heavyweight boxing champion and no match for a younger stronger athlete. Ivan glared giving Rimsky the same glare he gave Koloff in the ring. He said nothing instead he just threw his former trainer to the ground and walked away.

Ivan kicked his steroid addiction alone. He returned home feeling the sweat cover him. Already the shakes were beginning.  
Ludmilla was dressed like she was on her way out. “Ivan you look awful ” she said.  
“I am suspended from boxing,” Ivan said dully. His mouth felt dry. “They….won’t give me my injection.”  
“What injection?” Ludmilla said. “Ivan, have you been taking illegal drugs?”  
Ivan's eyes widened. “You know I have! You told me that you took them yourself!”  
“I don't know what you are talking about,” Ludmilla said. 

Ivan felt sick. The confusion made him feel worse. Was he going insane? He was certain Ludmilla knew about the steroids. She had taken them.  
“You're lying to me,” Ivan said feeling his body shake. “Lyuda please help me! I need them! I need you!”  
He held his wife's arms as she pulled away. “If you got yourself into something on your own then that is not my problem!’  
Ivan watched in dismay as his wife opened the door. “Where are you going?”  
“Out,” Ludmilla said. “Don't wait up for me!” She slammed the door amidst her husband's cries of her name.

For the next two days, Ivan suffered the agonizing withdrawals of quitting cold turkey. Ludmilla wasn't around. He writhed in bed, sweating, vomiting, craving the steroids more than anything else.  
He longed to put the needle once more in his arm and feel that rush, that power or at least to die in the attempt.  
What the hell? He had nothing now. The Russian public mocked him. His handlers washed their hands of him and were now going through the process of pretending like he didn't exist. His in laws disowned him. He was married in name only now, what did he have left to live for?  
He tumbled out of bed and panted feeling his whole body shake. Was this what it felt like to die? Was this how his father felt? Apollo Creed? To be at the end of your life and to feel you have accomplished nothing?  
He then remembered: he had something or would have something. He had a child. That baby growing inside his wife deserved to have his father alive and there to greet him.  
He would not could not die or be a burden on his child the way that his father was to him with his alcohol addiction. He had to survive and he had to kick. For his child, he had to fight his addiction and he was going to. In a way, he felt that child's spirit encouraging him and giving him strength to fight and succeed.

Ludmilla went into labor in her eighth month. She had one of her regular shouting matches with her husband then fell over in pain. Ivan took her hand but she refused at first.  
For a brief second, Ivan had a flashback of his mother's miscarriage, but it passed. He sprang into action and called for a doctor. Then he carried his wife out of the apartment and took her to the hospital.  
It was a difficult labor and Ivan sat in the waiting room in despair afraid that he would lose his wife, the baby or both. Finally the doctor appeared and told him that his wife gave birth to a baby boy who while underweight was extremely healthy. His mother however was still very weak and because of the thyroid damage this child would end up being her only child.

Viktor and Ludmilla were sent home within a few days. There were a lot of adjustments in getting used to having a newborn in the house. Ivan tumbled out of bed almost as soon as he heard Viktor crying. Since Ludmilla still needed rest from the delivery, Ivan opted to let Viktor sleep in his room. Ivan rubbed his eyes and picked up his son.  
He carried Viktor into the kitchenette and opened the refrigerator to take out a bottle. Ludmilla didn't want to breastfeed their son, so she and Ivan practiced weaning him towards the bottled formula. Ivan then put the bottle in his son's mouth. Viktor sucked hungrily as his father rocked him back and forth then carried back to his room.

Ludmilla listened as Ivan took their son to his room. She then sneaked into the sitting room. She made her decision after Viktor was born. When Viktor came out, she held her newborn son in her arms and felt…. nothing. No affection. No maternal bonding. No attachment. Nothing except relief that he was out. It was nothing at all like the obvious love her husband felt.  
The lack of feeling for her child was the final decision. She waited until Ivan and Viktor were quiet. Silent. Just the two of them in a world that did not need her. Ludmilla picked up the phone and dialed Yevgeny's number. “Yevgeny,” she said. “ I made my decision about what we talked about. I can do it. I want you and your life.”

As he fed his son, Ivan marveled at what a second chance Viktor had given him. His life wasn't over yet.  
He could still box maybe not in luxury as the pride of the Soviet Union with that fine technological equipment designed to make a superman.  
Instead there were many small villages and bars that held prize fights. It was a step down and technically wasn't entirely legal but it would bring money and food to the table.  
Ivan would not surrender and would not allow Viktor to do so either. He smiled as the little one looked up at his father and gave a newborn equivalent of a happy grin. Ivan warmly kissed his son.  
No Ivan Drago did not cry holding his infant son as the little one fell asleep. But he had never been happier.

Author’s Note:  
In the establishment shot of the Drago's apartment in Creed II, the camera pans to two photographs. One of Ludmilla holding baby Viktor and the other of Viktor when he was about two or three. The photo that Ivan takes of Ludmilla holding Viktor in my story is meant to be that picture. I will also find a way to put the other photo in my fic too mostly because it is so adorable to see the Big Guy when he was a Little Guy and he's smiling. It shows that Viktor's childhood wasn't all being forced into boxing and raised on hate. He was once a genuinely happy kid and his father encouraged that.

Of course I couldn’t resist a play on Ivan’s famous “I must break you” catchphrase. Now changed to “I won’t break you” to his newborn son.

Also I don't know how old Viktor actually is. I thought I heard 28 in the movie but I like the symbolism of him being conceived right after the fight with Apollo so I moved his birth up a little so he can be directly involved in those events sort of.


	4. Ludmilla, Sasha, and Ayzere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While restoring his boxing career, Ivan makes some new friends. He returns to Moscow to a shattered reputation and deceitful former colleagues and family.

The Unmistakable Fire  
A Rocky IV/Creed II Fic  
By Auburn Red  
IV. Ludmilla, Sasha, and Ayzere

Ivan Drago sat in the train car, his two and a half year old son asleep with his head on his father's lap. He watched the Russian landscape go by through the window.  
He should feel something some sort of sadness about leaving his homeland but the truth was he didn't feel anything at all. The events of the past almost three years soured any loyalty that he would have had of his country by birth. 

Viktor stirred in his sleep and opened his eyes. Once undersized and underweight, he had long caught up to the size of most children his age and was even heavier. That's a fighter's son for you, Ivan thought proudly, a fighter himself.  
“Papa I'm hungry,” Viktor said.  
“Alright Vitya,” Ivan answered.  
He stood up and opened his bag. He pulled out a bag of roasted sunflower seeds and handed it to his son. The boy ate the snack contented.  
Ivan's own stomach growled but he ignored it. He had very little money and what he did have had to provide for Viktor. Viktor came before Ivan always.

When Viktor was finished eating, Ivan put the bag back and took out one of Viktor's stuffed animals, Cheburashka, a big eared white faced brown creature that Ivan bought while the two were on the road as Ivan engaged in rough grueling and illegal boxing matches. Viktor held his stuffed friend close and spoke to him in childish gibberish. “We’re moving to Kiev, Chebu’shka. Don't cry. I know you're scared.,” Viktor put his fingers on the toy's cheeks miming like he was wiping his tears the way his father did for him. “You still sleep with me there.” He looked up at his father. “Will he Papa?”  
“Of course he will,” Ivan said half amused by his son's imaginary conversation and half guilt stricken about their situation.  
Ivan silently watched his son play with the toy until he yawned and began nodding off. Ivan observed the landscape through the window again until the monotony of the scenery made him sleepy as well.

Ivan was tired not the spirited kind of tired after a boxing match where he collapsed satisfied with the fight and relieved that it was over.  
He was exhausted from the turmoil behind him and uncertain about the future ahead for him and Viktor.  
What would he do in the Ukraine if he couldn't box? How could he earn a living? Where would he and Viktor live? How could he support his young son? Would he ever see Ludmilla again and was there even hope that she could love him again? Where would Viktor go to school and how would he be treated when he was there? Will Ivan's disgrace and shame stay for the rest of his life and into Viktor's adulthood? How would Viktor treat him if it did?  
So many questions filled his mind that even though Ivan was bone weary, he still found it difficult to fall asleep.

After Viktor was born, Ivan and Ludmilla's marriage still did not improve. Ludmilla did not leave, but they were not happy together. They slept in separate rooms and had little to say to each other. Occasionally Ludmilla would make some sharp criticism or comment, but mostly she inherited her husband's art of silence. They just barely spoke to one another acting more like strangers rather than husband and wife.  
Sex was a distant memory. Since Ludmilla gave birth to one child and was unable to bear any more, she considered that part of her marriage done. She kept her door locked and refused to admit her husband.  
While Ivan still got a hard on for his beautiful sexy wife, he refused to appease it by forcing himself into her room or having an affair. Those were things his father did to his mother things that he could never do. Instead he honored his wife's wishes and returned to his room.

Despite his faltering marriage, two things were more important to Ivan: caring for his son and revitalizing his boxing career.  
He took care of his little boy doing all of the parental duties such as feeding, changing, rocking, and soothing him to sleep all with a growing affection for Viktor.  
Ivan loved to hold and kiss his son or pick him up and swing him in the air. Ivan idly wondered when he picked him up, if Little Viktor's ears popped or if he felt that the air was very thin up there over his giant father's head.

Ludmilla however was not affectionate towards their son. She barely cared for Viktor and when she did, her contributions were clearly reluctant and mechanical. She refused to breast feed Viktor so they both fed him from a bottle. She formed no attachment with her son in fact told Ivan that he was being too lavish and indulgent with his.  
They even differed on what they called him. Ivan addressed him by the diminutive pet name “Vitya” while Ludmilla used the more formal “Viktor” or more often “that infant” as though he didn't have a name. She did her expected duties as a mother but little else and with clear contempt for the child that she gave them to.

Besides Viktor, Ivan also attempted to continue his boxing career. Because the high tech facilities were closed to him, so were the higher quality matches. His removal from the boxing world was not yet official but he could tell that it certainly was closed for now.  
Instead Ivan spent most of his time training in regular gyms and asking about the prize fights. Many did not wish to speak of them. Officially they did not exist and were not sanctioned by the Soviet authorities. Unofficially, many people attended them especially in the rural villages where they had very little entertainment.  
So even though someone always knew somebody who either attended or fought in them no one would admit it. So Ivan trained, practiced, and asked. 

Finally one day a letter arrived from a Sasha Orimenko inviting him to participate in a match in a tavern in Elyakovo and to talk.  
Ivan showed the letter to Ludmilla who nodded in delight and spoke with a warmth that Ivan hadn't heard in some time. “Congratulations Ivan, I knew that you would come back.”  
Ivan looked at the letter up and down. “Would you come with me?”  
Ludmilla shook her head. “I can't, remember? I am going with Tatiya Tania to Georgia.”  
Ivan nodded. Since the troubles in their marriage, Ivan no longer got along with Ludmilla's aunt and uncle. They also were disappointed in his loss and made not so subtle suggestions that Ludmilla should leave him. Ivan had a feeling that during his wife's holiday with her aunt that he would be the frequent topic of conversation.

Viktor, then six months old, made an impatient sound from his high chair. Ivan retrieved his son's bottle. He put the formula in the boy's mouth and turned to his wife who looked at the father and son with vague disinterest and boredom. “You will bring Viktor with you of course,” he said.  
Ludmilla glared at him. “I will do no such thing!”  
“Well he can't be left here by himself,” Ivan objected.  
Ludmilla had a snide look that almost said “why not?” “Tatiya thinks that I need a rest from my marriage and motherhood,” she stated. “How much of a rest will I have if I have to take that infant along?”  
“What am I supposed to do with him?” Ivan asked.  
“Can't you take him with you?” She asked.  
Ivan shook his head not believing that she just suggested such an impractical idea. What was I thinking? A tavern is the perfect place to take an infant, he thought sarcastically.  
“Ludmilla I am not taking him to my meeting with this Orimenko. It is dangerous and foolish!”  
“That is your final word on the matter?” Ludmilla glared.  
“It is,”Drago insisted. “He does not come.”

Three days later, Ivan stood in front of the seedy tavern with his boxing equipment over one shoulder and Viktor in his arms. How much of a rest can she have if she has to take him along, Ivan thought angrily to himself. More of a rest than I would have worried over what would happen to Viktor in there!  
Viktor pouted as he looked at his father with an angry grimace. Ivan continued. “Now no trouble!” The baby gave a loud sound like a raspberry.  
“Well you started it!” Ivan said as he held his son closer to him so he could be warm from his body and opened the door.

The tavern was loud with raucous cheers and laughter and filled with cigar smoke. Ivan looked at the ring, a much smaller one than he was used to, as a large Tajik man almost Ivan's size pushed his boxing gloves and gave a guttural scream.  
From the letter, Ivan read that his name was Fazid “The Berserker” Abdulin Ivan's opponent. He would be boxing him in one hour. “He doesn't look so tough does he?” Ivan asked the disinterested infant.  
Viktor gave a sound that Ivan hoped was of approval. “I know, your father must break him. Now where is this Orimenko?”

“If you have any equipment leave it behind the bar,” Lev, a scrawny ferret faced Armenian man said from behind the bar as he barely looked up at Ivan's direction.  
Ivan was distracted both by his opponent, searching for Sasha Orimenko and holding onto his wiggling son that he had just a minute to improvise. Without another thought, he handed the baby over to the bartender. “Take good care of him until my match is finished.”  
Lev looked confused. “What? What's this?” He asked. He was stunned at the squirming baby in his arms and looked like he was going to be ill. “I can't take this!”  
Ivan stood up to his full height and glared at Lev who gulped. All Ivan had to say were two words: “Take him” as he nodded terrified.

An elderly man waved Ivan forward. The man was large in both size and girth though Ivan was taller. He had a snow white beard and a twinkle in his eyes. With his appearance and his bulky long coat, Ivan thought he looked like pictures he had seen of Ded Moroz Grandfather Frost. “Ivan Drago, I am Sasha Orimenko. Have a seat.” When he spoke, Ivan could detect the Ukrainian accent of his mother. He invited the younger man to sit next to him. “Would you like a drink?”  
“No thank you,” Ivan said.  
“A Russian who doesn't drink? How is that possible?,” Sasha laughed. He called a barmaid over and ordered a vodka. “ I make sure this place never goes out of business. I am their best customer. Now come order.”  
“A vodka will be fine as well, black,” Ivan had a feeling that he would need it facing Abdulin.

Ivan and Sasha looked up as a small wail rose over the tavern, an all too familiar wail to Ivan's ears. “Is that an infant? Who would be so careless as to bring one in here?” Sasha asked.  
Ivan winced in embarrassment. “Yes some people are so irresponsible!”  
The baby's wail got louder as the disheveled bartender approached the two men. Ivan figured something like this would happen with his luck. Lev glared at Ivan. “Comrade, your child just vomited all over my bar!” He put Viktor back in his father's arms.  
Ivan shrugged. “He is the first person here to do that?” He dryly asked.  
Lev nodded like he couldn't deny it. “Today.” He said as he stormed back to the bar.

“Ah, he is your son,” Sasha realized as Viktor calmed down instantly playing with his father's fingers. “He has no mother I take it.”  
“No he does,” Ivan said.  
Sasha nodded as if understanding. “Then you are divorced.”  
“No,” Ivan replied. “We are still married.” The older man looked confused so Ivan tried to explain. “Well you see- its-”  
Sasha waved his hand. “Bah you young people! It is complicated, da?”  
“Sort of,” Ivan said.

“Since we have some time before we begin let me tell you about the circuit,” Sasha said. He nodded over at the direction of Fazid Abdulin who was in a fierce discussion with his handlers. He screamed again as the crowd cheered loudly clearly excited for the upcoming match.  
“You are aware that these matches are not formally sanctioned by the athletics committee nor by the Moscow government,” Ivan nodded as Sasha continued. “There are less restrictions so it can be more dangerous, even fatal at times something I believe that you are familiar with already.” Sasha laughed until he saw Ivan's glare realizing that was a hidden comment about Apollo Creed. Sasha threw up his hands. “It was only a joke. You know Vanya, I may call you Vanya da, you should learn to laugh once in awhile.”

Ivan did not respond. Instead he slightly rocked Viktor back and forth as Sasha spoke. “There is a reason that they are not formally approved. It is because it makes us serfs out here in the villages happy.  
That's because Moscow likes to control everything. The Bolsheviks will not be happy until every aspect of our lives is restricted including the Breads and Circuses. You are familiar with the term?”

Ivan shook his head as Sasha tapped his forehead. “Ah what do they teach children in schools these days? That is what I call these matches.  
In ancient Rome Juvenal was disgusted with how the common people were concerned with filling their bellies with bread and attending violent entertainment the Circuses. He thought that they were so concerned with their personal pleasures that they chose not to discuss philosophy or revolt.  
However, Vanya, I feel differently. I think the Breads and Circuses do serve a purpose. These people are so beaten down by the Communists that they have very little to rely on. They break their backs on farms that belong to the state. They are taught to fear their fellow man. Even the television programs or the films they see are tightly controlled.  
Out here in these villages, they play their music, tell their stories, and yes occasionally pay to watch two men beat each other bloody for rubles and why shouldn't they? They have so little out here.”

Ivan considered. He never thought of what the Soviet government meant to the common villagers. He knew times were often hard for them but they were hard for everyone.  
He had lived his whole life in Moscow, raised in Kapotnya, educated in the orphanage and the military school, joined the Army, fought in Afghanistan, and became a living symbol of the superior Russian athlete.  
He had been so used to the propaganda that he had become desensitized to it. He had forgotten what it meant to people who lived in fear every day of the system that he had followed without question. 

Ivan nodded at Abdulin's direction. “Who are these fighters? How are they selected?”  
Sasha shrugged. “Different ways. Some are former street toughs, others worked in the farms or were part of nomadic tribes. Others like your new comrade Fazid over there, had been in prison in Siberia. The real Siberia not just a name on a robe.”  
Ivan knew the older man was taking another jab at Ivan's boxing career.  
He was about to explain that he did not choose that name but instead glowered.

“You are aware of who I am and that I could report all of this and bring it to an end,” Ivan said coldly.  
Sasha smiled clearly not at all afraid. “It is because I know you who you are that I know you will not report it. I saw you in your fight with Rocky Balboa.  
I saw you declare that you fight not for the government nor for some national pride that no longer exists if it ever did. You declared you fight to win for you. Anyone who can say that with their fist held high in the air in front of the Politburo with the Secretary General present is exactly the kind of fighter we want.  
You are surrounded by people who fight for themselves. Oh they fight for their families: husbands, wives, children as I suspect you do-” he nodded at Viktor who lay still on his father's lap. “-friends. But what makes them different is that they fight for an individual they fight for the right to be individual. Not for some political slogan that is draped in front of a machine gun. That's who these fighters are. That's who you are.”  
Ivan was doubtful. He wasn't sure if Sasha was telling the truth or not. “It was nothing. It was something I said at the moment spoken out of anger and excitement.”  
“But it was said,” Sasha said drinking some more of his vodka.

Ivan had to admit that he was filled with a bold pride when he made that declaration. So many had subsequently used that line against him that he felt bitter and ridiculed by it.  
He had forgotten how proud it made him that for once he declared that he was tired of being forced, handled, and controlled. He felt less like the machine they expected him to be and more like a man.  
It surprised him that somewhere out there someone had listened to him and made that connection. Didn't Viktor deserve that right as well the right to fight for himself? Ivan gave his son a thin smile as he smiled back.

“Well I have been talking too long,” Sasha said. “It is that time.” Ivan was about to stand when he looked downward at the infant still in his arms. “What do I do with him?” He asked out loud.  
Sasha held out his hands. “I will take him.” He said.  
Ivan was suspicious. “You would?”  
“I am the father of six children,” Sasha said. “I will take him.”  
Finding no other alternative, Ivan put the boy in the older man's arms. “His name is Viktor.” He said as he left for the back room to get dressed.

The fight was intense more so than the usual matches Ivan was used to. Fazid Abdulin lived up to his nickname as he screamed and verbally taunted his opponent in a loud and obnoxious manner like a berserker. Ivan thought he reminded him of the Tajikistan answer to Clubber Lang.  
The two men glared at each other as the fight began. Abdulin mocked Ivan as he gave him a few punches. “Come on Drago,” he taunted. “Fight like a man! You could not even beat Rocky Balboa on Moscow soil! You are a disgrace.” Ivan punched Abdulin a couple of times but the man still continued. “Is that what you did to Apollo Creed? Is that the best you can do? Is that how he looked when he died? You murderer!”

Ivan struck back as he punched him ruthlessly. Instead of his usual cold behavior he blazed with rage. Fire instead of ice. Passionate instead of stoic. Fierce instead of detached. It was as though Fazid Abdulin had unleashed all of the anger that Ivan held towards his enemies until it exploded.  
He beat the man again and again until he was on his knees with a look of fear in his eyes. Ivan had him with one more punch.  
Ivan answered his question “No that is not how Apollo Creed looked when he died! He was not a coward!” 

He punched his opponent sending him flat on the ground. The tavern erupted in applause as the customers threw coins and rubles at the fighters. Ivan raised his fists high in the air as the people cheered. Abdulin rose alive but defeated. Sasha held up Viktor and made the boy's tiny hands applaud. Ivan wasn't sure how much Viktor actually understood of what was going on but the happy smile on his son's face was enough.

Ivan jumped down from the ring as the customers patted him on the back and offered to buy him rounds. Ivan accepted their thanks and walked up to Sasha and Viktor. He held his son high in the air and kissed his cheeks. “My Vitya. My victory!” He looked at Sasha. “Well?” He asked.  
“You are our kind of fighter,” Sasha said. “You will do very well. I will send you the schedule by post.”

Ivan graciously accepted his comments. But he nodded at Viktor. “What about him?”  
“Do you think that you would bring him often?” Sasha asked.  
Ivan could not answer. This was not a safe environment for an infant child but he knew that Ludmilla would never want to be responsible for caring for Viktor that long.  
Sasha smiled. “I tell you something. Let me know if you are taking Little Viktor with you and my wife or I will care for him during the fights.”  
“Your wife?” Ivan asked.  
Sasha nodded. “Ayzere. She loves these fights as much as I do and she gets bored puttering around the house now that our youngest turned 18 and married.” He thought for a second. “No 19. She would love any reason to watch them.” He stuck out his hand. “So what do you say? Are you with us, Ivan Drago?”  
What could Ivan say? Ivan gave a thin smile. “Da.” He shook the man’s hand in return.

Ludmilla was instantly supportive of her husband accepting to perform in the Breads and Circuses. She said that she would not tell anyone but that she would not attend them.  
“These sound like rather long trips and to be truthful I never liked going to the matches.” Ivan was surprised. This was news to him. She used to love attending them and got a thrill every time her husband won.  
What had changed? Then Ivan realized that she no longer liked them because her husband lost. She could no longer watch in embarrassment accepting another potential humiliating defeat. 

“If you like I can remain here and influence the officials to let you be reinstated” Ludmilla suggested.  
“You would do that for me?” Ivan asked.  
Ludmilla tutted as if that was a stupid question. “Of course I would. I am your wife am I not? I am also a much better speaker than you are and Dadiya has some influential contacts. It could work. You could be the pride of the Soviet Union again. Then in the meantime you can prepare for your return with these matches.”  
Ivan smiled with delight that he had such a forward thinking wife. He was also glad that she was showing her love in her own way by bringing her husband's career back. (Later on he practically kicked himself for not asking why she didn't do this before.) “Thank you, Lyuda.”  
“It is what any loving wife would do.” Ludmilla said. “But Ivan I would love for you to do two things for me.”  
“Of course anything,” he said.

“First that you take Viktor with you,” Ivan was reluctant so she explained further. “That man Sasha offered to watch him during the matches. It would be foolish not to accept.”  
“I suppose,” Ivan said. “And second.”  
“You transfer the money into notes and send it to me so I will put it in the Gosbank in your account and take care of it,” she said. “You may have some for food of course and lodgings but wouldn't it be better if the money were here in Moscow instead of with you in some village where you could be robbed?”  
It did make sense. His wife always managed his finances before so why not now? “You will be alright here?”  
“Don't worry, Ivan,” she said. “I will be just fine.”

Ayzere Orimenkova was a small stout Kazakh woman. She looked like she was several decades younger than her husband but she had the look of a hardened peasant woman. Her dark graying hair was tied in a simple bun. She was dressed in a black and white dress and headpiece of her people.  
She smiled warmly at Viktor and held him on her lap. “Don't let my wife's size fool you,” Sasha said proudly with a laugh as he slapped Ivan on the back. “Aza may be small but she was raised with ten brothers and lifted heavy farm equipment.”  
Ivan looked at the woman up and down skeptically. While he knew that many of the rural women were as strong as the men, this woman's petite frame suggested otherwise. Plus he was well aware of sportsmen's frequent hyperbole. 

Ayzere grinned. “You doubt my husband?” She pointed at the floor. “I suppose I should prove my skills.”  
Ivan smirked at this short woman's bravado but he had to be realistic here.”I do not wish to hurt you.”  
“I was thinking the same thing,” Ayzere said. “Go ahead.”  
She handed Viktor to her husband and stood at the floor. Ivan couldn't believe he was doing this. He faced her planning on pulling his punches to go easy on her. He got in a fighting stance and Ayzere reached over and firmly put her hand on his arm. Before Ivan had time to react she grabbed Ivan's other arm, lifted him a few feet from the ground, and flipped him over knocking him to the floor. 

Ayzere and Sasha laughed as Sasha helped him stand. “It's a shame that such sports are closed to women. She would be world champion wrestler and I would be quite a wealthy man.”  
“I can see that,” Ivan said with admiration, respect, and a strong desire to never tell anyone what just happened.  
“It is a beginning of beautiful friendship, da?” Sasha said.  
Ivan nodded. Yes Viktor would be in good hands with these two no doubt about it. 

After his successful match, Ivan gathered his earnings, took out what he and Viktor needed for food and a place to sleep at night.  
Viktor will need a stronger coat with winter approaching and us going to the colder places, Ivan thought as he laid out some rubles for that and placed the rest inside a small locked box. He would transfer the money in the morning and send it to Ludmilla.  
He accepted Viktor from Ayzere's hands and bounced him on his hip before he thanked the Orumenkos.  
Viktor glanced up at his father, smiled, and laughed. In an unguarded moment, Ivan kissed his son. “My Vitya my victory,” he whispered. He then gathered up their things and headed towards the inn where they would sleep for the night.

Sasha and Ayzere smiled warmly at the retreating father and son. “I do not understand.” Sasha said. “No other boxer that I know brings their small children with them. Most of them leave them at home.”  
“Most of the other boxers have wives or other relatives to care for their children at home,” Ayzere reminded him. “Viktor only has Ivan.”  
“He is married,” Sasha said. “His wife is in Moscow.”  
Ayzere snorted. “If she were a good wife and mother do you really think that Ivan would choose to bring his son with him?”  
Sasha had to agree. He could not think very highly of Mrs. Drago's parenting skills if Ivan would rather bring the boy to a tavern rather than leave him with his mother. 

“That man surprises me,” Sasha said When he is fighting his opponent, he is fierce unstoppable, almost a monster. It is like he is driven by anger and hate, not that I blame him, and unleashes it in the ring. But when he is with that boy, he is so gentle and tender. It is almost like he is not the same man.”  
Ayzere shook her head and laughed. “Oh Sasha don't you see? Inside the ring he only has eyes for his opponent. But outside the ring, well outside, he only has eyes for Viktor.”

Those first fights led to several. Ivan traveled by train sometimes for almost an entire day, checked himself and Viktor in to an inn, arrived at the locations, trained usually with whatever was lying around such as wood, stone, and other natural items, fought and received the money.  
They would go from one small village to another in various Soviet countries: The Ukraine, Latvia, Lithuania, Azerbaijan, Belarus,Georgia, Moldavia, Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan, Armenia, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Kazakhstan, Estonia, occasionally in Russia itself (but not in Moscow, Sasha said that would be tempting fate) up to Siberia, the real one he remembered Sasha saying not the name on the robe. 

Ivan's eyes were opened to the plight many of these villagers had against the Soviet government. He saw dilapidated farms, cold hungry winters, people who had prematurely aged because of their hardships, soldiers roughly arresting and beating unruly villagers into submission and taking advantage of female ones, and former gulag prisoners their dead fearful eyes and scarred rail thin bodies telling of unspeakable torture. Occasionally someone would dress or sing a song from their native country only to be silenced and reminded that they were all Soviets. Once Ivan Drago was proud to call himself a loyal Soviet, these days he felt less proud. 

He asked Sasha if he thought the people would or should rise up and revolt the way they did against the Tzar. Sasha shook his head and said bitterly. “ Vanya, what for? They did it once and this is what happened. They do it again and nothing will change. The peasants will still be poor. Moscow or some other city would still be in charge.  
All another rebellion would do is give us a few months of excitement followed by years of corruption and tyranny with many of the same faces leading us.”  
Ivan wasn't sure how he felt about that. He didn't want to think about it again.

Sasha and Ayzere traveled with Ivan and Viktor staying in the same inns as they did. They kindly watched Viktor as his father trained and fought. They also served as Ivan's trainers and corners often helping him prepare for fights. At first Ivan was simply cordial and polite to the couple, but as the four of them traveled together Ivan could tell they had developed a fondness for the father and son as he did towards them.  


Ivan at first could not understand this fondness. After all he did not have such a bond with Rimsky or Koloff. He began to understand when they stayed in Novosibirsk for an upcoming fight. It was a downtime since the fight wasn't scheduled until the next day so Ivan decided to take in some rigorous running and training to prepare for his fight.  
He returned to the inn to Sasha and Ayzere's room since they were looking after Viktor. Ivan could smell cooking from the stove as Ayzere stood in the kitchen area. Sasha held the 8 month old infant and told him the story of Odysseus and the Cyclops. "So after Odysseus stabbed Polyphemus, the Cyclops opened the boulder and yelled 'I have been stabbed.' 'Who did this to you?' his brothers yelled. Because Odysseus introduced himself as Nobody the giant said 'Nobody stabbed me.' 'Well,' Polyphemus' brothers said. 'Then what are you going on for? Go back to sleep!'"  
Ayzere chuckled and shook her head at her husband's story. She greeted Ivan and invited him to sit across from her. "I believe the main reason my husband wanted children was so he could tell them stories."  
"Viktor likes hearing them," Ivan said politely.  
Ayzere handed him a bowl of borscht. Ivan was about to respectfully decline and pick up Viktor to return to their room when Ayzere gently tapped him on the shoulder. "And the main reason I wanted children is so they could eat my cooking," Ayzere said. "Now eat hearty. I suspect that you don't eat enough."  
Ivan didn't want to say how close she was to the truth. After Ivan deducted the money he sent to Ludmilla, he was left with very little for himself and Viktor. Most of his money went to pay for rent and to buy formula, diapers, and other necessities for Viktor. Ivan skimped on meals for himself usually getting by with eating very little.  
"I am fine," Ivan said.  
"You will be much better if you get some food in you", Ayzere said determined. "You will do no good for your son if you do not care for yourself first. You hurt yourself enough as it is. You do not need to practically starve yourself as well."  
Ivan accepted the borsht and ate it. He covered his mouth to hide the grin that was threatening to form. While Ayzere could be a tough trainer holding bags while Ivan punched and shouting orders like any man, she was also very much a Mother Bear making sure that Ivan and his son were well cared for. Ivan didn't suspect too many male trainers were as forceful as she was.In fact he would love to see Ayzere encounter Rimsky. Ivan had a feeling that the odds would be in Ayzere's favor.  
The smile turned into a laugh which Ivan attempted to cover with a cough. "I am sorry."  
Ayzere smiled. "No it is very nice even if I now owe Sasha 15 rubles."  
"How do you mean?" Ivan asked.  
"Well Sasha and I had a bet to see whether or not you could laugh," Ayzere answered. "I did not think you were capable. I have never been happier to be proven wrong."  
Ivan smiled at the woman's good natured humor. The two ate in silence as they could hear Sasha continuing the story "So as Odysseus left he said 'Polyphemus my name is Odysseus, but you can tell everyone that you have Nobody to thank for your troubles-Nobody but yourself that is." He tickled the infant as both the boy and the old man laughed.  
<\p>

Ivan and Ayzere exchanged amused grins as Ayzere became wistful. "It is nice to hear children laugh. I miss that."  
Ivan nodded. "Sasha said your children are grown."  
"It is more than that," Ayzere said bitterly. "We had six children. Two of our sons and one daughter were sent to Siberia 15 years ago and never returned. About ten years ago another son and daughter emigrated to America with their families but we do not know where. Our youngest Larissa married the son of a prominent Muscovite two years ago so she wants as little to do with our family as possible."  
"I did not know," Ivan said. "I am sorry."  
"Don't be," Ayzere said. "You did not know us at the time and you had nothing to do with it. But now you see why Sasha and I spend so much time at these matches. I guess we now like to think of our boxers as family especially those who are without one of their own." She nodded at Ivan.  
Ivan looked downward at his borscht unsure of what to say. He was interrupted by Sasha who put his finger to his lips. "The little one is fast asleep."  
"Spasibo," Ivan said.  
Sasha accepted a soup bowl from his wife. At first he looked confused as Ayzere held up 15 rubles but then he looked at Ivan and a big smile across his face. "I told you that he was not chiseled in granite." Sasha said merrily.  
Ivan shook his head at the jokes at his expense. Sasha sat and joined them. The three of them talked until a familiar cry surrounded them. "A teething child is such a wonderful noise, da?" Sasha quipped..  
"This is Father's job," Ivan rose. He winced realizing how bad it sounded in light of what Ayzere told him. "I'm sorry."  
"As I said don't be," Ayzere answered simply. "Now you go care for your son."  


The fights were extremely graphic and brutal. While Ivan did not kill any opponents, they were often left severely bruised or bloodied as was he. Often the bloodier the fight was the more the audience liked it. Without any officials there, there were less rules and restrictions and no round counts so they could be extremely brutal by the end. The fight pretty much ended when one was on the ground. 

While Ivan won sometimes, his fighting style had changed. Like his fight with Fazid Abdulin, he became more aggressive, furious, and passionate. Maybe it was the audience's expectations or maybe it was the fights themselves. Maybe it was the rage that he felt towards his enemies like Rocky Balboa or his disappointment at his public loss.  
Ivan was still as quiet as ever and not given to outward displays of emotion except towards Viktor, but the fire that had long been inside consumed him in the ring and was unleashed with his fighting stance. It wasn't quenched until the opponent was defeated.

Ivan also lost many times as well which was rather unfortunate because while both participants got paid the winner was paid more than the loser.  
Sometimes if Viktor gave him several sleepless nights by crying and needing attention, Ivan would come to the fights sleep deprived.  
Ivan could still fight well two to four days without sleep but over a week often left him at the mercy of whomever he was fighting. 

Also after he had participated in the Breads and Circuses for a couple of years, Ivan felt more and more pain. It became harder to bounce back from injuries. He spent more time in the steam bath houses soothing his aching bones and muscles.  
His body was going through tremendous amounts of punishment and he knew that it was prematurely aging him. He wondered if his boxing days were coming to an end. He hoped not. He hated to think that his only lasting legacy was killing one man in the ring and losing to another on his own home turf.  
He also worried what would happen if those days were behind them. He spent his whole life training to be a fighter. If he couldn't box, what else could he do?

As promised, Ivan posted the money to Ludmilla. They often talked on the phone but not for very long. She thanked him for the money and asked how the fight went. Ivan told her as terse and succinctly as possible without any exaggerations or hyperbole.  
Whenever he mentioned Viktor, Ludmilla was usually quick to say that she had to go. She never wanted to hear about Viktor only about the fights.

Ivan asked about his status and she told him that there was no response. He knew official Soviet response could often be rather slow but he wondered how much she was even trying.  
Once she mentioned that Nikolai Koloff's younger brother, Yevgeny, a lawyer, was interested in helping them out so Ludmilla decided to work with him to get Ivan reinstated. “Don’t worry Ivanushka, Yevgeny and I are working together on this. We will get you restored to Soviet glory. You just keep doing what you do best, keep fighting and I will do what I do best, keep thinking and talking.”

Ivan only missed one fight when Viktor was 2 years old. In their room at an inn in Estonia, Ivan helped Viktor dress as the little one started sneezing. His face scrunched up and he began to cry. “Papa, I no feel good.” Ivan picked up his son and noticed that his body was warm. He then put his hand on the boy's forehead and realized he was feverish. He informed Sasha that he had to cancel the fight because he had to watch over his sick son.

He was surprised to see Sasha and Ayzere standing at the door a few minutes later. “You are angry with me for cancelling?” Ivan guessed.  
He sat next to Viktor as he lay on the bed. He absently handed Cheburashka, which he bought for Viktor that day, over to his sick son.  
Sasha gave one of his deep laughs and turned to his wife. “I told you that's what he would think. Vanya dear boy, you are too suspicious.”  
“I am Russian,” Ivan reminded him.  
“You are suspicious even for a Russian,” Sasha laughed. “Even Zeno would think you go too far with your stoicism.”  
“Who?” Ivan asked.  
Sasha teased him. “Vanya, if you read more and fight less, you might live longer. Zeno of Citium Is the founder of stoicism that wonderful philosophy that you follow whether you know it or not. Restrained, expressionless, strong, not given to outward emotion. Many of your countrymen follow that whether they know it or not.”

“If you are not angry with me then why are you here?” Ivan asked.  
“Because you have a sick child and to tell you that it is alright if you miss the fight,” Sasha said. “Vanya, you are a father first and a boxer second. Of course you would stay with the boy. You should stay with him.”

“Also we want to give you this,” Ayzere said as she handed Ivan a glass jar with a strange gelatinous gray glop inside.  
“What is it?” Ivan asked as he opened the jar. It had a very strong smell that he drew back.  
“It is medicine that had been in my family for generations,” she said. “It will help strengthen Viktor's immunity. It is sour milk combined with beets, rutabagas, carrots, and potatoes.”  
Ivan shrugged. Okay why not? he thought as he put some on a spoon and held it in front of his son.  
At first the boy closed his mouth and refused to eat it. “Net, net!” He cried. Nyet nyet. No no.  
He continued to cry until Ivan commanded, “Eat it!” Even though he was a small child, Viktor knew when his father had that tone of voice that it was best to obey him. He opened his mouth as Ivan put the medicine inside. 

“He should begin to improve by morning,” Ayzere explained. Ivan thought how odd it was, if Ivan was still the pride of the Soviet Union, Viktor more than likely would have been treated at one of the fine hospitals and subjected to state of the art technology.  
Now here Ivan was relying on a folk remedy from a Kazakh peasant woman. Either it was a sign of how far he had fallen or how much he had learned. He thanked the kindly couple as they were about to leave.  
“Bolse spasbo Ta Ta and Dya Dya,” Viktor said.  
“Indeed,” Ivan agreed knowing what his son said. “Bolshoe Spasibo.”  
“No need to thank us,” Ayzere said.  
“You are our tovarich our comrade,” Sasha said with one of his warm belly laughs. 

Ivan’s mouth turned slightly upward. He still wasn't used to such kindness. He was used to people who were only interested in what he could do for them. Sasha and Ayzere were nothing like people like Koloff, Rimsky, Vobet, or his father, maybe Ludmilla who used, abused, or abandoned him when he didn't deliver on his promise. Even when he lost fights, Sasha and Ayzere assured him that he needn't worry and there will be other ones.  
Ivan felt a strong bond with the elderly couple. They filled a void in Ivan's life that he didn't realize needed to be filled. They talked to him as a friend and an equal not as a product of the Soviet system as so many others did in his life. Ivan didn't have many friends but he considered the couple his comrades.  
Comrade. Such a funny word, so overused that it lost all meaning. Sasha and Ayzere Orumenko were the only people in Ivan's life that he considered worthy of the term. 

Viktor also loved them. Since Sasha and Ayzere still cared for Viktor during his father's matches, he felt a familial attachment to the couple.  
When Viktor learned to speak his first word was of course “Papa” but he also said “Ta ta” for Tatiya how he referred to Ayzere and “Dya dya” for Dyadya for Sasha.

The next morning when the fever had indeed passed, Ivan called Ludmilla and told her that he missed the fight and explained why.  
“I hope it was worth the money you lost,” was her only sharp reply.  
Ivan glowered. “Your son is fine, thank you very much!” He said sarcastically before he hung up the phone.

The Breads and Circuses were too good to last. When Ivan, Viktor, and the Orumenkos returned to Elyakovo ironically Ivan was to face Fazid Abdulin once more. Before the fight even began as Ivan and Abdulin prepared their final touches, a troop of Russian soldiers entered the tavern. There was a tense silence.  
Terrified Viktor ran from Ayzere's lap and ran towards his father. Viktor had a fear of soldiers. Throughout the villages that they had travelled, many of them shouted orders, shot at the air or innocent peasants, and seemed to delight in their cruelty. If a soldier appeared and especially when they got in his or his father's face, Viktor would often cower behind or next to his father for protection. He even sometimes woke up with nightmares about them only to be soothed by his father. Privately, Ivan was glad that the boy never saw him in uniform.

Viktor clinged to his father's legs as Ivan put his arms around his son. A captain stepped forward and said, “We order these fights be stopped immediately.”  
Sasha stepped forward. “Who gives such order?”  
“It is direct orders from the state. You are to cease these matches and ordered to never perform them again.”  
A cry of protest arose from the crowd. “Silence,” the captain said. “If you cooperate none of you will be harmed. Now disperse immediately.”

He stopped for a minute and headed towards Ivan's direction a sly smile on his face. “Ivan Drago so good to see you again.”  
“We know each other?” Ivan asked.  
“Bela Smirnov we fought in Afghanistan together,” the captain began.  
Ivan shook his head. “I don't recognize you. There were so many of us.”  
“We boxed together many times and you defeated me every time,” Smirnov reminded him.  
Ivan shook his head. “Do you have any idea how little that helps me to remember?” He enjoyed how frustrated Smirnov got that he didn't remember him.  
Smirnov looked annoyed but then he waved his hand disdainfully and laughed. “No matter you probably wouldn't remember. After all I am not an American that defeated you in Moscow or another American that you killed in the ring!” He was about to say something else when he received a sharp kick to his shin. 

Smirnov looked downward at the young boy who kicked him. He picked Viktor up by his neck. The little boy screamed in pain as the captain handled him too roughly. “Send this puppy to his mother where he belongs.” He shoved him to the ground.  
Ivan's eyes flashed. Without another word, he punched Smirnov right in the jaw. One of Smirnov's brother officers punched Ivan in the stomach in retaliation. For that, Ayzere lifted the soldier and pinned him to the ground. 

That started a barroom brawl between the tavern goers and the soldiers. Ivan boxed a few and Ayzere wrestled a few more.  
He glanced over at Fazid Abdulin who screamed before he clubbed a man on the head. Ivan and he exchanged glances as they saluted each other in respect.  
Even Lev the bartender got into the act as a soldier was pushed towards his bar. The soldier sprang up and called him a filthy Armenian. Lev retaliated by breaking a glass bottle over the soldier's head. “Yes and I am proud of it,” he said dryly as the man went down.  
For Sasha's part he managed to punch a few and knock a few down flat but mostly he picked Viktor up, set him on his lap, and sat down. He calmly drank his vodka as he enjoyed the display. 

The fight continued until a gunshot sprang through the air and hit a wall. The glass bottle that it hit shattered. The people stopped fighting as Smirnov put his gun back in the holster. “You may be strong fighters but none of you can withstand a bullet. Now, I order you to end these fights and leave this tavern immediately.”  
The tavern goers slowly filed out not fighting but certainly not happy about it. They grumbled as they left. Sasha, Ayzere, and Ivan rose. Ivan retrieved his son from Sasha's hands and set him next to him holding his hand.  
The quartet rose to leave as Smirnov called “Drago, you should be proud to know that it was you personally that we were told that participated in these illegal fights. You should feel fortunate that we rescued a former Soviet fighter from these vulgar nationalistic displays.”

Ivan, Ayzere, and Sasha sat in the Orimenko's hut in Elyakovo. Viktor sat on the floor playing with Cheburashka. It amazed Ivan how resilient children were that Viktor recovered so quickly from that incident with the soldiers and the brawl and was back in his innocent world as if nothing ever happened. “I did not report them.” He insisted.  
“We know Vanya we know,” Sasha said. “You would not likely report on yourself.”  
“Do you suppose Ludmilla did?” Ayzere asked. She never did care for Ivan's wife the little she knew of her. She could tell neither did Sasha.  
Sasha shrugged. “It is a possibility.”  
“No,” Ivan said rather quickly. “She wouldn't.” Ivan wasn't sure if his wife wouldn't report the fights out of loyalty to her husband or because she knew that she would receive no money if she did and wasn't likely to destroy her main source of income.  
He forced such disloyal thoughts from his mind. Ludmilla may be a little mercenary and their marriage hadn't been the best, but she was not about to cut her husband's throat to save her own. She loved him too much for that. Right?

“Bah,” Sasha said. “It does not matter who reported it. It only matters that it was done. It was bound to happen anyway. The Bolsheviks love nothing better than to ruin anything that we would consider entertainment. Still we had some good fights and certainly ended with one.” The three clinked their vodka glasses in a toast in agreement.

“What will happen to you?” Ivan asked.  
Sasha shrugged. “We will manage, a pair of Arctic wolves like us.”  
Ayzere held her husband's hand. The two smiled. “And you Vanya what will you and Viktor do?”  
“Return to Moscow,” Ivan said. He realized how long it had been since he had seen the city. The city and Ludmilla. He hoped that she would be there waiting for him. “Work, care for my son, fight again.”

Sasha gave a small laugh. “Not to offend Vanya but I am beginning to wonder if you should stop fighting. We see that you get injured more and your endurance is not what it was. This barroom brawl alone still gives you a sore back. Oh I have no shame in the Breads and Circuses, but even I know that fighters never lasted very long in them. One year is the limit, two if they are fortunate. You made it to almost three. You have a son and he has a birthday soon. He needs to know that his father will live to see many more birthdays to come.”  
Ayzere nodded in agreement. “Sasha is right, Vanya. For Viktor's sake, maybe it is time.”  
If it had been anyone else, Ivan would have been offended by such a suggestion and would have beaten the person who made it senseless, but he knew that Sasha and Ayzere were not asking out of meanness or mocking him. They were sincere in their concern. Still he could not accept that suggestion. “Not yet,” he insisted. The couple exchanged glances clearly not happy with his decision but not finding their place to argue with him.

Ivan looked squarely at the couple. “I want you both to know that you are my truest friends. I think of you like a mother and father to me, better than my real parents certainly better than my father. I will always treasure our friendship.”  
Sasha grabbed Ivan's arm in a firm but hearty grasp as he did the same. “As do we, Vanya.” They fell into a bear hug.  
“You are as another son to us,” Ayzere said as she embraced the younger man warmly.  
“Come Vitya,” Ivan said standing up. He took his son's hand to help him rise. “We have to leave. Say goodbye to Tatiya and Dyadya.”

Sasha warmly picked up the toddler and kissed him on the cheeks. “Dasvedanya Vitya. May you be granted your quota of smiles.”  
“Dasved’ya, Dya Dya,” the boy said waving goodbye with his tiny hand.  
Ayzere kissed the little one on the cheeks. “Dasvedanya, Vitya. You care for your Papa. He does not wrestle so good.” Ivan smirked at the memory.  
“Dasved’ya Ta Ta,” Viktor said waving at his surrogate aunt.  
Ivan held out his hand and led Viktor out. Despite the emotion that was threatening to come, he actually was looking forward to returning to Moscow and his wife. Home he thought. He couldn't wait.

Ivan took Viktor's hand as the two walked to their apartment. Viktor asked several questions mostly about his mother.  
“Is Mama booful?”  
“She is Vitya very.”  
“Is Mama kind?”  
“Sometimes.”  
“Is Mama smile?”  
“Sometimes.”  
“Is Mama fighter like you and Ta Ta?”  
“Not like us. We fight with our fists, our bodies. Mama is more like Dyadya. She fights with words.”  
“Why does Mama not come with us?”  
With that question, Ivan could hear his son's voice quiver. He knelt down so he could be eye level with his son.  
“Mama has things to do here and she couldn’t be with us all the time, Vitya. Now enough questions. We are here.” He picked his son up and perched him on his hip. He fished into his pocket and pulled out his keys. Then he unlocked the door.

Ivan called his wife's name but the house was quiet disturbingly quiet. “Ludmilla, Lyuda?” He asked. He set his son down feeling a sense of emptiness that disturbed him.  
He walked into their bedroom and opened up the closet. His clothes hung neatly on the hangers but hers were gone. He opened the drawers and saw her other clothes were missing. He looked up to locate her jewelry box but it too was gone.  
Ashen Ivan returned to the sitting room. He picked up the telephone. “What's wrong, Papa? Where's Mama?”  
“I don't know, Vitya,” Ivan said as he dialed Ludmilla's aunt and uncle's phone number.

“Vobet residence,” a familiar voice answered.  
“Sergei, do you know where Ludmilla is?” Ivan asked.  
“Ivan you're back,” he sounded at first surprised then disgusted. When he spoke again he sounded casual like he was trying to hide something and didn't want to let Ivan know.“My niece and...wife are in Sochi right now on holiday.”  
Ivan breathed a sigh of relief. Sochi. Holiday. That was all. It made sense that she would take….all her clothes and jewelry with her. “Do you know when she will return?”  
“I do not know,” Sergei said.  
“If she calls you, will you please let her know that we returned?” He asked.  
“ Oh Ivan I will be more than happy to,” Sergei said with a faint tone of irony that Ivan did not catch. Instead Ivan thanked him and hung up.

If that wasn't a big enough surprise, the next one added to it. Since Ivan still had some rubles and coins left over from the last few fights, he didn't notice any problems with his finances at first until he ran out.  
When he approached the Gosbank to make a withdrawal, the teller told him that there was nothing in his account and furthermore that Ivan's access had been restricted.  
“What?” Ivan asked shocked.  
“That's what it says here,” the man said showing him the financial statement. Sure enough, Ivan saw that it said 0.00. “That's just not possible. You are making a mistake,” Ivan said. “My wife transfers the money into my account every day.”

The man peered at his records through his narrow glasses. “According to this, she has made some very sizable withdrawals for some time now. You did know about it didn't you?”  
Ivan stood in frozen silence. She couldn't have stolen from him could she? The teller continued imperiously. “Then Comrade, the mistake is clearly not on our part.” He said that in a tone that indicated “What kind of an idiot are you?”

When he and Viktor returned to the apartment, Ivan's head throbbed at the pressure he felt. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he looked at the pile of papers representing money that his wife owed. That he now owed.  
He didn't want to believe it. Ludmilla wouldn't steal from him. She was his wife. He trusted her. Too much it seemed.  
“You are suspicious for a Russian,” Sasha once teased him. Obviously not suspicious enough.

How could he have trusted her so much? He heard something about boxers getting brain damaged after being hit too many times. He dismissed it, but now wondered if that was what happened here.  
Was he incapable of reason to the point that he blindly trusted her or was he so in love with Ludmilla that he refused to see her dishonesty? Maybe his father was right all along. Maybe he really was Ivanushka-Durachok, Ivan the Fool.

He tried to justify her actions in his head that he had been away for so long. She was probably lonely. They didn't have much of a marriage before that. Cost of living made her withdraw too much. At the very least, he should wait until she returned from Sochi to hear what she had to say.  
But no matter what convenient excuse he provided for his wife's actions, Ivan felt so drained that even though he hadn't boxed in awhile, he still felt like he had been knocked out.

Below the pile of money statements, another more recent letter caught his eye. It was from the Soviet Athletics Department to inform him that he was scheduled to appear before a hearing to determine his status as a Soviet boxer.

Ivan waited inside the Athletics Building for over two hours beyond the scheduled time. Viktor sat on his lap. Finally his name was called. Ivan stood and bade his son to walk with him.  
When Ivan entered the room, he motioned for his son to sit down on one of the chairs by the wall and not to speak. The boy obeyed as his father approached the Committee.  
Seven men sat behind a podium and faced Ivan. Most Ivan knew at least by sight and one rather well. Nikolai Koloff, his former manager and promoter glared at him with such a smug grin that Ivan longed to punch him again.

The director opened his file and spoke. “The Soviet Athletics Department will now begin our hearing whether Citizen Ivan Alexeyevich Drago is to return to our boxing program-”  
“-Strike the title Citizen from the charges,” one official said. “Drago is not a citizen of Russia.”  
“I have always been a good and loyal Russian,” Ivan argued.  
The director read the added information. “According to this you are only half-Russian. Your mother was a citizen of the Ukraine.”  
“”My mother moved to this country when she was 12,” Ivan said. “She married a Russian soldier! I am a former Soviet Captain! I was awarded the Order of Lenin-!”  
“-Yes Drago we are aware of your previous record but you still are not a full native of Russia.” Ivan felt punched in the gut. He was once the symbol of the Russian athlete. How could they suddenly decide that he wasn't Russian enough? His mother's country of origin never bothered anyone before. 

The director continued. “Mr. Koloff will you read the charges towards Drago?”  
“Gladly,” Koloff replied as he took out a form. “Charges are noted as follows that Drago had enhanced his performance with the use of anabolic steroids-”  
“-I was given them by you,” Ivan declared.  
“-Please Drago, you will get your chance to speak. Continue Koloff.”  
“Thank you Comrade Director,” Koloff said. He continued to read from the paper. “Underperforming at the highest level, being responsible for the death of another boxer, and participating in so-called “prize fights” that are illegal and unsanctioned by the Soviet Athletics Department.”  
“- I have to earn a living,” Ivan began.  
“Drago please,” The director commanded. “Now we will discuss each charge one at a time.”

The accusations against Ivan went on and on. They practically skimmed over Apollo Creed's death while they endlessly discussed Ivan's underperformance. To this Committee the death of a man was nowhere near as important as a loss on Soviet ground.

The worst accusation was the one involving the steroids. Dr. Popov appeared and said that he administered the steroids in Drago's home.  
“That is not true,” Drago said. “It was in the gyms in full view of Koloff and others.”  
“Drago we don't want to warn you again,” the director commanded. “Continue Dr. Popov.”  
The doctor nodded. “Thank you, Comrade Director. I have records stating that I personally administered anabolic steroids to Citi- uh Drago once a day from 1983-1986.”  
“ And there were no officials present during these injections?” The director asked.  
“There were not Comrade Director,” Popov said. “This was done without the approval or consent of the Soviet Athletics Committee. I personally administered them to Drago via his request.”  
“And you consented to this procedure even though it was not approved?” Koloff asked.  
“Well look at him,” Popove pointed at the buff giant of a man. “I would be a dead man not to. Plus with the steroids, his already ferocious temper along with his addiction was even more uncontrollable. We all saw what he did to Apollo Creed.”

Drago realized what was going on. Koloff and Popov destroyed all evidence that they had administered the steroids. Popov then claimed that his patient was a temperamental drug addict whose word could never be trusted.  
They would never admit that they had given them to him personally or that they required it. Ivan and Ivan alone was to be charged for receiving illegal performance enhancing drugs.

The Committee spoke for a few minutes until the Director spoke. “Drago do you have anything to say in your defense?”  
That's when Ivan realized that he didn't. He could never verbally argue with these people or state his case in a way that would convince them. He was not a talker. The blunt truths that he already said did not matter.  
All of his usual means of defending himself, cold intimidating stares, shoving, and pushing someone down would never work here. Ivan was completely unprepared and completely out of his depth. He really had nothing to say.

"Again, his tongue did not make it through customs," Koloff jeered. He and the other committee members laughed. That was it! Ivan clenchd his hands into a fist. He really wanted Koloff down there so he could punch his lights out. The director then nodded. “Then it is decided. Ivan Alexeyevich Drago, you are hereby banned from boxing for life. You will be stripped of all your titles and will turn in all awards that you receive including your gold medal. You will no longer represent the Soviet Union in any official athletics capacity and will not return to the sport. This case is closed.” He banged the gavel that felt like a bullet into Ivan's soul.

Ivan and Viktor walked out of the building hand in hand when Koloff called him. “Oh Drago, I should let you know Ludmilla has returned from Sochi.”  
Ivan turned around and faced his former manager. “How do you know that?”  
“ I am not the KGB. My brother informed me, in fact she is over there at his home right now,” Koloff said clearly enjoying the psychological torment he was giving the former boxer. “Apparently they had a marvelous time together. Much better than their time in Georgia nearly three years ago. She did not tell you this?”  
“With her aunt-” Ivan began.  
Koloff interrupted him. “I assure you my brother is not her aunt.”  
Drago gave the former manager one of his intimidating stares. “Where does your brother live?” Ivan asked.  
Koloff smiled and told him. “It is ironic is it not. You claimed that you fight to win for you now you will lose for you as well.”  
Ivan turned around like he was going to leave but he whirled around and punched Koloff sending him to the floor. Ivan gave an icy grin. That actually felt good.

Ivan knocked on the door of Yevgeny Koloff's house. He waited as a dark haired man dressed in a white bathrobe opened the door. He looked similar to Koloff in features that Ivan figured out right away that he was his brother. “Yes,” he said. “What can I help you with?-” He began but Ivan shoved him into the house.  
Both Ivan and Viktor followed him inside. “Where is my wife?” He threatened.  
“I don't have to tell you-” Yevgeny Koloff began but Ivan lifted him a couple of feet from the floor. “She's not here,” Yevgeny's voice cracked. Ivan lifted him a couple of more feet. “Ludmilla!” He squeaked.  
“Genya, what is it?” A familiar voice asked.  
Ivan dropped the other man and stared at his wife. “Lyuda,” he said softly.  
Viktor’s eyes widened in surprise. “Mama?”

Looking at his wife made Ivan realize how long it had been since they last saw each other. Ludmilla looked different, thinner but still beautiful and sexy. Her hair was dyed to a platinum blond and her face was made up and clearly worked on. She too wore a white bathrobe as well as diamond jewelry including a necklace, bracelet, large hoop earrings, and a ring that appeared bigger than three regular rings. She looked like a parody of the Snegurochka, the Snow Maiden Grandfather Frost’s granddaughter. She looked pampered, polished, not the typical Soviet wife not even the young Muscovite wife. To Ivan she looked gaudy and overdone.  
In Ludmilla's hands was a filled champagne flute. “What are you doing here,Ivan?” She said not even bothering to conceal her contempt.

Ivan looked from his wife to the other man putting the pieces together. “You and Koloff's brother-how could you? How long has this been going on?”  
Yevgeny stared at his mistress as she helped him stand. Drago's shocked demeanor gave him the advantage. He put his arm around Ludmilla and smiled. “Three years now since Balboa wasn't it?” He kissed her full on the mouth.  
“It was before then as I recall,” Ludmilla teased. “Since before Ivan's fight with Apollo Creed.”  
The two lovers kissed and laughed. Ivan tried to piece everything together. He wanted to deny what he was hearing. His wife had been having an affair? That long? Before Apollo Creed? Ivan glanced over at his son, his dark haired son. His dark haired son that had been conceived the night after the fight that Ludmilla said was two months premature. The son that Ivan swore shared his features. He looked over at Yevgeny Koloff. He had dark hair and was Viktor's chin like his? His face was also like Nikolai's. Ivan shook his head. No Viktor was his son, dammit, his son! Ivan was the one who was there at his birth, the one who fed him, the one who nursed him when he was ill, the one who cared for him on the road while Ludmilla was in Moscow. Viktor was Ivan's son. He always would be. 

Ivan felt not only knocked out but like his opponent was dancing on top of his fallen body the way Creed did before their match. He looked from Ludmilla to Yevgeny still in each other's arms and laughing. Viktor's eyes were on the floor. “I don't understand, why?”  
Ludmilla laughed. “Because Ivan you are a failure!”  
“You said that before but you came back,” Ivan said stunned. “Lyuda, you came back to me.”  
“I was pregnant and had a difficult birth,” Ludmilla said indicating Viktor who she saw for the first time. “Giving birth to that child! I couldn't very well do anything about it then!”

Ludmilla walked towards the bar and poured herself some more champagne as Ivan followed her like a sick and damaged dog. “Ludmilla, we shared everything. I gave you money. I went to the Gosbank and they told me-I didn't believe them-”  
Ludmilla gave a thin smile. “Ah yes the Gosbank. Thank you for the money, Ivanushka. It wasn't much but it certainly paid for many nice things.”  
Ivan looked around the house at the art work, antiques, old books, jewelry, champagne. Her front closet was open and he could see elegant fur coats and evening gowns. Ivan was stunned. “The money from the prize fights- Viktor and I went without so I could send it to you.”  
“Bolshoe Spasibo, Ivan. You fought and I collected like always. You have made me a very wealthy woman mostly with your original career of course but the prize fights have been profitable as well among other things.Things have definitely turned for the better in the past year.” She took another sip. “Perestroika and Glasnost have been very good to me. For the first time I live like a Westerner and I love it.”

Ivan looked around once more at the house and felt repulsed. Fighting in the Breads and Circuses was for nothing. All of the non-stop travelling, the fights where Ivan was beaten, broken and bloody, he and Viktor staying in one freezing inn after another, enduring hunger and sleeplessness, putting his body through tremendous agony, cutting short his athletic career, coming face to face with some of the toughest fighters as well as Soviet soldiers.  
All that he did and all that he earned was now on Ludmilla's walls, in her closet, in her glass and on her face, neck, wrists, and fingers. He felt like he was the proletariat worker working, suffering, and bleeding while his wife was the bourgeois manager sipping champagne while he starved.  
Worse he felt like he was a prostitute that sold his body and talents while his pimp of a wife benefited from them by selling her husband and spending his money.  
He looked over at Viktor. The boy silently gulped, tears falling down his face. “You left us with nothing.” Ivan said slowly and sadly.

“Not entirely nothing,” Ludmilla said. She reached into an ornate box and pulled out a small piece of paper. She handed it to Ivan. “I do not marry failures and I don't stay married to them either.”  
Ivan opened the document: divorce papers. It was all perfectly legal and signed by her. It was just waiting for his signature. “Nyet,” Ivan said. “You are my wife and Viktor’s mother!”  
“That means nothing to me,” Ludmilla said. “You mean nothing to me! I don't want you and I don't want that child!”  
“But-”, Ivan began.

Yvgeny rolled his eyes. “Why don't you give up, Ivanushka-Durachok? She wants a divorce! She does not want to marry a failure who lost on his own soil and who participated in vulgar tavern fights. It's a good thing that I had them stopped when I did. Otherwise you still would be in them dragging Soviet Athletics's reputation down as well as Lyuda's.”  
Ivan glared at what this man just confessed to. “You reported the fights and had them closed down.”  
Yvgeny smiled triumphantly. “How else do you think they found out where you were? Your wife told me and I told them.”  
Ivan clenched his fist and aimed. True he promised that he would never hurt his wife. He made no such promise towards her boyfriend.

Yevgeny lay flat on the ground. Ludmilla ran to her boyfriend's side and glared at her soon to be ex-husband. “Get out, Ivan! I never want to see you again. Get out and take that child with you!” She walked up to him and slapped him across the face. “I said get out!”  
Ivan closed the door as Viktor looked downward. “How come Mama don't want us?”  
Ivan held his son close unable to answer. Some questions could never be answered.

A few days later, Ivan looked at the divorce papers. The language was hard to understand, but it was pretty clear. Ivan and Ludmilla Drago's marriage had come to an end. He took out a pen and mechanically signed his name.  
Everywhere he and Viktor went, Ivan knew the word had gotten out of his losses. He could see people staring and pointing at him. A few laughed. People assumed since he participated in tavern fights that he was an exiled inebriate.  
Pravda even mocked him by saying “Ivan Drago swore that he would break Rocky Balboa. Well he didn't but his wife and our comrades at the Soviet Athletics Department broke Drago.”

When he and Viktor sat somewhere to eat, customers would say “Is that-?” and then rise and move to another seat as if Viktor or his father had some contagious disease that they could catch.  
Money was scarce as for the past few days, Ivan resorted to begging. Thankfully there weren't too many people that refused to give money to a large intimidating man but still Ivan resented that he had to do it at all. He felt cold and alone like he was now a stranger in Moscow.

Viktor stirred a little in his sleep and Ivan glanced at his son's direction. He knew the boy's belly was empty. All Viktor had to eat was a bag of roasted sunflower seeds which he already finished. He had another bag which Ivan suggested that he should save for tomorrow. A woman was kind enough to purchase them for Viktor and his father. Ivan insisted that they would both be for Viktor. He would be fine.  
He walked over to the boy and smoothed back his dark hair. “My Vitya,” he whispered. He couldn't say “my victory,” because there wasn't one. All he could do was kiss the top of his head.

A loud imposing knock filled the room and made Ivan jump in surprise. Viktor's eyes flew open as a deep voice called “Drago, open the door!”  
“What is it Papa?” Viktor asked terrified.  
Ivan stood up and embraced his son. “I don't know Vitya. Wait here.”  
He opened the door to see three soldiers in the doorway. One, Bela Smirnov looked menacing. "Now do you remember me, Drago?" Ivan did not answer. The other two soldiers looked nervous like they didn't want to be the ones to turn in Ivan Drago but that they drew lots and lost. 

“Papa soldiers!” Viktor said running to his father's arms.  
“What do you want?” Ivan asked.  
“Ivan Alexeyevich Drago you are ordered to report to Kievsky Station where you will be deported to Kiev. You are hereby stripped of your Russian citizenship and are ordered to comply immediately", Smirnov commanded”  
“Papa nyet,” Viktor shouted. He collapsed into his father's arms. Ivan simultaneously tried to comfort his son and glare at the soldiers.

“What about my son?” Ivan asked.  
“The orders only apply to you, not to the boy,” Smirnov motioned to his subordinates as they reached for the boy intending to remove him from his father. “Nyet Nyet! Don't make me go!” Viktor screamed. “Don’t take my Papa away! I want to stay with my Papa!”  
Ivan held his son even tighter trying to form a barrier between Viktor and the soldiers. He lost respect, his career, his only friends Sasha and Ayzere, his wife, and now his country. He was damned sure not going to lose his son too, the only person in the world that he had left to lose.  
He knew what would happen to Viktor. His mother clearly didn't want him nor would the rest of her family. Ivan could request that he be sent to Sasha and Ayzere, but they were not blood relations. Soviet authorities would be under no obligation to honor such a request. Viktor would undoubtedly be sent to an orphanage, a cruel harsh uncaring state run orphanage like the one in which he grew up. Ivan Drago would never allow that to happen.

The soldiers pushed on him again and Ivan grabbed the soldier's arm tightly. Even with Viktor between them Ivan managed to shove him backwards. “Do! Not! Touch! My! Son!” He warned icily. The soldier unleashed his grip on the boy.  
Ivan glared at the men. "My son comes with me,” he declared.  
“Sir our orders,” one of the soldiers argued.  
Ivan's eyes flashed. “My son comes with me or I do not!”.  
Smirnov rolled his eyes considering the argument not worth it. “Never mind you may keep the boy. One less body for the orphanage.”

On the train to Kiev, Ivan once again reflected on the things he lost. He was no longer a boxer. Instead he was a national joke. The Breads and Circuses were closed to him or to anyone else and his only friends lost their livelihoods. His wife divorced him and now had all of his earnings. Now he was a man without a country. Four years ago he was the pride of the Soviet Union now he was no one, an abandoned stray dog with a puppy to take care of. All because he lost. He lost to Rocky Balboa.

Inside Ivan seethed with a boiling rage. If he hadn't lost to Balboa none of this would have happened! He wanted revenge but he knew that he could never get it towards Balboa.  
It wasn't likely that he would return to the Soviet Union, not without special permission and Ivan sure as hell wasn't going to America. The only thing he had left was revenge and even that could not be satisfied.  
He pounded his fists into the walls, the seats anything. He wanted to kill something, strike it, beat it until he was satisfied! He kept hitting and hitting everything around him. He pounded the seats because there was nothing left to pound!

Suddenly a small voice piped up clearly in a nightmare. “ Nyet, Nyet! Don't take my Papa! Don't take him away! Papa! Papa!”  
Ivan reached over to wrap his arms around his son. He picked up Cheburashka, who the boy dropped during his nightmare and handed him to his son. “It's alright Vitya. They didn't take me, I'm here. Papa's here.”  
The boy wept in his father's arms. “Papa, I'm scared.”  
“I know Vitya,” his father said. He pulled his son away from him and looked in his eyes. “Vitya, I know that you are scared and sad but you must do something for me and yourself. You must never let anyone see you fear or cry. They are our enemies and you must never show fear or sadness to an enemy. When you do, they will find it as a weakness and use that against you. You have to be strong so you can fight them and win. Do you understand?”

Viktor nodded. Not even three years old and already he understood. He wiped his tears and asked with a quivering voice asked. “Can I show them to you?”  
“Just no one else,” Ivan said warmly. The boy then clinged to his father's shoulder and sobbed into his chest. Ivan held his son tightly and allowed his son to cry the entire way to Kiev.

No Ivan did not cry comforting his son and thinking of how he lost his career, respect, money, glory, country, friends, and his wife. But he seethed. He hated and inside he vowed that someday he would have his revenge against Rocky Balboa.

Author's Note: 1. I made up the concepts of the prize tavern fights. I do not know if such things really existed in the Soviet Union or if they did they were that widespread. I thought of them kind of like the fights Rocky participated in in the first movie only he used them to work his way up and Ivan used them on his way down.

2\. The other reason that I created the Breads and Circuses was because of Sasha and Ayzere. I felt it was important for Ivan to have at least a few genuine friends in his life for a few reasons: 1)It parallels Rocky's journey because they serve as Ivan's Mickey or Duke 2) To show that someone connected to Ivan's “I win for me!” declaration in a positive way 3) To create more sympathetic Soviet characters besides the Dragos 4) So Ivan could get a sense of how the Soviet system that he once represented treated people and 5) So in the next section Ivan could have one of his well-known catchphrases thrown back at his face in an epic manner.

3\. The bit where Ivan leaves a baby with a staff member only for them to return them saying that the child threw up was from the movie Baby Boom (1987). Only since Diane Keaton isn't exactly Dolph Lundgren and can't silence someone with a look, she instead promised the coat check girl a very big tip and her Visa Card.

4\. While more downplayed than in Rocky V, I am not dismissing that Ivan may have suffered brain damage from his fights. When writing Rocky V, Stallone considered making the script about a rematch between Rocky and Ivan until someone told him that they both would have sustained brain damage in their fights. That left Stallone to study the negative effects of what boxing could do and built his movie around that.  
Also the steroid use as well may have caused permanent cognitive issues as well. Not to mention as I wrote, the Breads and Circuses grueling fights prematurely aged him.  
So I paralleled his and Rocky's journey by being easily susceptible to manipulation and being reduced to poverty by a reckless loved one. Though in Rocky's case, it is caused by frivolous spending and Paulie's errors. In Ivan's case, Ludmilla deliberately ruined him.

5\. The line where Ivan compared himself to an abandoned dog with a puppy to take care of comes from Film Switch’s wonderful insightful Youtube review of Creed II called “Why Creed II Made You Cry.”  
6\. The line about how Ivan felt “cold and alone like he was a stranger in Moscow” is from the Michael Jackson song “Stranger in Moscow” which was a huge inspiration for this fic.

7\. Of course the implication that Viktor may not be Ivan's biological son is based on how little Dolph Lundgren and Florian Monteanu looked alike even though they are both big guys. Considering what we know of Ivan and Ludmilla's marriage it's not out of the realm of possibility that she's been around. I purposely left it open ended because I like the possibility that he might be his son and even if not biologically then he is Viktor's father in every sense of the word. 


	5. Russia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Ivan and Viktor return to Russia finding a different world but old demons. Ivan also notices his son's talents for the first time.

V. Russia

Ivan Drago would always remember where he was and what he was doing when he heard that the Soviet Union ended.

That New Year's Eve, he and Viktor were at the bread lines and the markets getting food. The line was very long, it was always very long. Ivan walked forward holding his five year old son's hand. Viktor was extremely quiet and listless. He often was when he hadn't eaten in sometime like a small feral kitten that was about to be drowned because he was the runt of the litter. Ivan gently brushed his and Viktor's hand across his cheek to wake him up. The boy reacted somewhat but he still drooped having the same look of hunger and sadness.  
Poverty had done this to him. Ivan thought with regret. Poverty was threatening to weaken possibly kill his son. It made him frail and vulnerable just like Ivan's mother. Ivan was going to have to find a way to strengthen the boy.

When it was finally their turn, Ivan methodically went through the lines trying to figure out exactly what was needed and what they could do without. He had about 150 rubles and that had to last them through his next pay period from his job at the docks. Such hard work for so little pay.  
He selected some bread for Viktor and glanced over at the meat market. They had fresh meat. Ivan considered as he picked up another loaf of bread. If he bought the meat, he wouldn't have enough for his own bread. But if he bought the bread for himself, Viktor would not have anything more substantial. Ivan put his own bread back and selected a cut of meat. He then set the meat underneath the bread in his basket.

A loud commotion erupted on the streets and several people ran and shouted outside the markets. Ivan couldn't tell what about whether they were protesting, rioting, or just plain drunk. Ivan did not look up nor did anyone else. Since the Coup d'etat, there had been so much unrest in the streets that they had grown used to it. The only good thing about the unrest was that since Viktor had gotten so used to the sight of soldiers on the streets he no longer feared them or at least acted like he didn't.

Ivan felt a tug on his sleeve. “Papa, can we have that?” Viktor asked pointing at a jar of honey over with the sweets.  
Viktor loved bread and honey. It was one of his favorite treats but they couldn't always eat it. Honey was way too expensive. “Not this time, Vitya. Maybe another time.”  
Viktor pouted and almost argued but instead he nodded. So small so devoid of argument, Ivan thought. Yes, the boy needed to become stronger.

Ivan and Viktor walked to the greens section and Ivan weighed whether he should get turnips this time. The last they had were rotten, but he and Viktor ate them anyway. Ivan put the turnips in his basket when a young man ran inside the market, a jubilant smile on his face.”Did you hear the news? Gorbachev resigned! Communism is no more!”

An excited but skeptical murmur fell through the crowd. Since the Coup d'etat in August, a new rumor spread nearly every day. Mikhail Gorbachev was dead. No, that he was dying. No, that he was a prisoner in his own home. No, that he and the rest of the Politburo had been assassinated. No, that the American President George Bush declared war on the Soviet Union and any minute now nuclear bombs were going to rain down on the Eastern Bloc. So many rumors that no one knew what to believe.

The young man said. “No I heard about it on television. It's true! It's official! Gorbachev resigned! The Soviet Union has fallen!”  
There was a long silence as if the marketers and merchants were letting the news sink in. Suddenly, a joyful but nervous cheer arose from the back. Then the cheer got louder as more people shouted, clapped, laughed, danced, cried tears of joy and hugged family members, friends, even complete strangers to share this monumental news.

As for Ivan, he stood in silence absorbing the news. The Soviet Union was gone? He couldn't imagine something so hard to believe, so alien. He heard the Cold War was ending but he didn't believe it. A smile began to spread across his face as one thought occurred to him. “What does it mean, Papa?” Viktor asked.  
Ivan looked down at his son. “It means Vitya, that we can go home.”  
He smiled. This was definitely a cause for celebration. Ivan returned the turnips then picked up a jar of honey. He placed it in the basket with his other purchases.

“I don't understand, don't we live in Kiev?” Viktor asked as the two sat on their cots inside their one room apartment, basement really, later that night.  
“Not originally,” Ivan answered as he moved to sit on his son's bed. He reasoned that it would make sense that Viktor would not remember Russia that well. He traveled with his father while Ivan participated in the Breads and Circuses from the time Viktor was six months old. They left Russia before he was three and they had seen so much hardship since then.  
“We are Russian,” Ivan said. “We were ordered to leave the country when you were very small.” Ivan good naturedly tickled his young son. “Well smaller than you are now.” He said as the boy laughed.  
“What does Russia look like?” Viktor asked.  
Ivan waved his hand to indicate the country around them. “Much like here except larger.”  
Viktor looked around skeptically. “So why are we going back?”  
Ivan shook his head and stifled an amused grin at his son's bluntness. “Because Russia is my home, our home and things are different there. When things change, people who were once exiled return.”

“Does my mother live there?” Viktor asked.  
“She does,” Ivan said still feeling the pin prick in his heart every time he thought of Ludmilla.  
“Will she know we are coming?” Viktor asked.  
“I will write to her,” Ivan promised. Of course there was no guarantee that Ludmilla would answer. Every year on Viktor's birthday, Ivan wrote her a letter addressed to Yevgeny Koloff's house. They were short but filled with details about how much Viktor was growing, what he learned, what he did for fun, his hopes and fears. They were short, succinct, and terse but Ivan hoped that she understood the underlying message: I love you. I miss you. I long to be with you. Viktor needs his mother and I need my wife. Please let us come home.  
The letters were always returned unopened.

Sasha and Ayzere were a lot more faithful with their letters. Sasha's letters were as long-winded and bombastic as he was: filled with jokes, laughter, stories, and encouragement. Ayzere couldn't write that well but she always included parcels of her homemade remedies with love.  
Unfortunately their letters stopped a few months ago. Ivan vowed that while they were in Russia, they would stop by Elyakovo to see how their old friends were doing.

“Why were we ordered to leave?” Viktor asked.  
“There were many reasons, but most importantly I lost a match to an American,” Ivan answered. He told Viktor about his boxing career. He sometimes put his son to sleep with stories about his matches in the military, the Olympics, and the Breads and Circuses. However, there were two matches Ivan never talked about: his fight with Rocky Balboa and the one with Apollo Creed. This would be the first time Viktor heard about Rocky.

“They made us leave because you lost?” Viktor said incredulously. “That’s wrong! They should not have done that!”  
Privately Ivan thought that Viktor was right. But Viktor, like many children saw the world as black or white, right or wrong.  
“Well they did. They wanted to prove that the Soviet Athletes were the best so when the American bested me in Moscow, I humiliated and embarrassed them. After some time, they felt it was best if we left.”  
“My mother too? Did she want us to leave?” Viktor asked.  
Ivan nodded. “She did.”

There was a long silence as Viktor lay in bed. He was so silent that Ivan thought his son had fallen asleep. He was about to rise when Viktor asked. “Was he better than you?”  
“Was who better than me?” Ivan asked.  
“The American,” Ivan said. “Well that is no one is a better boxer than you. How was he able to defeat you?” The way the boy asked was as though his father was a god-like being who couldn't be taken down except by some powerful divine intervention.  
Ivan offered a thin smile. He was touched by his son's loyalty and admiration. Secretly, he didn't feel worthy of it. “Well he was persistent for one thing,” Ivan said. “It took 14 rounds for him to defeat me. Also he hated me even before the match because-” No I won't talk about that, Ivan thought. “- well it doesn't matter.. He wanted to fight me and hate can be a powerful weapon that can make a warrior.”

“Did he know you before?” Viktor asked.  
“Nyet, Vitya,” Ivan answered. “We did not know each other.”  
“So why did he hate you?” Viktor asked.  
“We were opponents,” Ivan said rising from the bed and not wanting to continue the conversation.  
“But you said he hated you before the match,” Viktor said. “Why did the American hate you so much?”

Ivan whirled around. “Viktor,” he sharply retorted. Viktor drew back stunned at his father's sudden change of mood and that he called him by his full name not the diminutive. Ivan was instantly remorseful. “I'm sorry, Vitya. You ask far too many questions. The reason that he hated me is not important. He's an American and he was my enemy that is all. It's time for you to go to sleep.” He knelt down, tucked his son in, and kissed him goodnight.

It took six months before Ivan finally received a letter granting permission for him and Viktor to come to Russia on a temporary basis. Ivan instantly posted letters to Ludmilla, Sasha, and Ayzere to inform them that they were coming.

Ivan and Viktor waited as the train pulled in. Ivan thought how much things had come full circle for them that they were at the same station and the same train heading to the place from where they came. It was surreal. How much would Russia especially Moscow change? The people who had once cast them out were gone and Ivan outlived them. Maybe he would outlive all of his enemies.

Inside the train,  
Ivan allowed himself a moment to imagine what his and Viktor's lives would be like in Moscow.  
They would live in a small modest apartment, one that would be just right for the two of them. They would live humbly without too much fuss, but Viktor would attend one of the best schools. He would have studies, friends, all the things his father never had. Maybe he would learn to use his brain rather than his muscle and become a great man, perhaps a lawyer or politician. Ivan gave a slight chuckle imagining the thought of Viktor Drago, son of Ivan Drago, member of the Politburo if it still existed of course.

As for Ivan well he would get back everything they lost. He heard that many former Soviet and Eastern European athletes, even the ones formerly in exile were welcomed back to the Russian Federation teams. Ivan reasoned, why couldn't the same thing happen for him? It was too late for him to participate for the 1992 Olympics, but he could train, fight, and prepare for the 1996 games. Of course he wasn't exactly excited about having to go to America again this time to Atlanta, Georgia. (That confused him at first. He didn't know of a city in Georgia called Atlanta until he looked closer and realized that this Georgia was part of the United States and not the country.) But he could stomach seeing it again if it meant that his former glory would be restored. 

Ivan would start his life over with a fresh clean reputation. Not as a killer, or a failure, or a product of the Soviet Union. He would instead be what he was always meant to be: a boxer, a fighter who just happened to be from Russia. He would not have the technology or the steroids. Instead he would use what he learned at the Breads and Circuses and while training in Kiev and he would fight fair and honestly. He would fight against the former Soviet machine that bullied the people: fight for Sasha, for Ayzere, the deadened rural villagers, the poor people of Kiev, and of course for Viktor.  
He would hold his head up high once more. Viktor would be so proud as they put that gold medal around his father's neck and Ludmilla? Well Ludmilla always loved a winner. She would come back to him once more.

On the train, Ivan shook his head from these foolish fantasies but still allowed them. Why not? Did he not earn the right to indulge himself in a little daydreaming? After all imagining the future was a lot better than living in the present where he and Viktor struggled to survive and only lived minute to minute hour to hour not thinking beyond their next meal or where they were going to sleep for the night.

Since they arrived in Kiev, life had been a long difficult arduous existence for the pair. Ivan often struggled to find work. He accepted just about any position: road crew, construction, welder, street sweeper, bricklayer, machinist, factory laborer. Lately, he had been working at the docks as a stevedore. Any job that required a strong body that was used to performing strenuous backbreaking work, in horrible conditions, and for little pay.

That was when he could find work. Many positions were temporary. Others had a waiting list of hundreds of people and even though Ivan performed the task well, they still chose someone else. Other employers weren't empathetic to the fact that Ivan was a single father and sometimes had to be home when he could not find or afford someone to watch Viktor or when his son was sick and needed nursing.  
One factory foreman recognized Ivan and routinely mocked him. Ivan would have let it slide and simmered with inner hatred, but the foreman said that his son should be ashamed to have such a father. The result was a flattened foreman and an unemployed Ivan.

They also could not always find a place to live. They moved from one apartment to another, when Ivan was unemployed. The apartments were often cold drafty places with little running water, paper thin walls, and were right in the paths of protests and street riots.  
Still as bad as they were, they weren't nearly as bad as the times Ivan and Viktor had to sleep on the streets, especially in the winter. Viktor shivered and huddled next to his father as Ivan held his boy in his strong arms and tried to warm him with his coat, an old blanket, or sometimes with his body, the only thing that he had with which to warm him.

Ivan felt shame when he saw his shivering freezing son. He ached every time that they returned from the markets and Ivan knew the food he gathered was nowhere near enough to fill his son's stomach. He hurt when Viktor limped because he needed new shoes and a long stretch of unemployment prevented his father from buying them. It all hurt but he never let it show.  
Ivan returned from work bone tired with sore muscles and dead on his feet but he never let on. Ivan never told Viktor that he was just as frightened, hungry, and felt just as helpless as he did. Instead he always kept a strong front for his son, one who refused to break or be broken.

Ivan was angry every day and longed to strike something until he was satisfied. He never struck his son. He remembered how his father took his despair out on his family. Ivan would never do that to his son. Instead he continued training in secret.  
Before sunrise, before his son woke up and his shifts began, Ivan rose, jogged, exercised, and worked out at a nearby gym. He sparred and practiced.  
One day he stood in front of a punching bag as he pictured in his head all his enemies.  
He punched the bag as he called a name: “Alexei Drago!” Again! “Sergei Vobet!” Another!. “Igor Sergei Rimsky!” Another! “Nikolai Koloff!” Faster! “Valentin Popov!” Harder! “ Apollo Creed!” Another! Faster! “Rocky Balboa!” Faster! Harder! Again! “Bela Smirnov!” Harder! Faster! “Ludmilla Vobet!” Harder! Faster! Another! “Yevgeny Koloff!” Harder! Again! “The Soviet Union!” He practically knocked the bag to the ground and sank with relief that his anger had been temporarily satisfied. For now.  
Every morning he returned to the gym and punched the bag calling his enemies’ names to appease his buried rage.

He also got attention from some of the local gym owners who wrote referrals for Ivan Drago to be accepted into the Russian Federation Athletics Program. He mailed copies to the Committee and had duplicates made for himself. These letters rested on Ivan's lap on the train. He glanced through them skimming some of the contents that Ivan Drago was in the best shape of his life, that he was a skilled technical competitor, and had shown great resilience and power in his matches. He hoped the referrals would convince the Committee and the Director.

Ivan ruffled his son's dark hair as he looked up from his American comic book. Viktor smiled at his father who smiled back and returned to his world of colorful illustrations and brave powerful costumed superheroes and villains.  
Viktor inherited Ivan’s stoicism and quiet. While he was still curious and exhibited flashes of imagination and a child's enthusiasm, he was well aware how serious their situation was. He never asked for toys or anything of that nature always aware that he would do without.  
He didn't believe in fairy tales or creatures like Grandfather Frost full aware of the reality that surrounded him and his father.  
Viktor accepted the constant moving and the reduction of food in stride never complaining. One rainy night, shortly after they arrived in Kiev, a police officer ordered them to leave the city block in which they were sleeping. As the two ran, Ivan realized his son left Cheburashka behind. “Do you want us to go back and get him?” Ivan asked.  
Viktor shook his head. “Nyet, Papa. He's just a toy.” He said that with such determination that Ivan left the subject alone.

While happy times were very rare, they happened on occasion. Sasha and Ayzere's letters were causes for humor, mirth, and support for the father and son. Sometimes Ivan and Viktor engaged in playful wrestling matches where Ivan pretended that his son pinned him. He fell over and as Viktor looked over at his fallen father, Ivan sprang up and tickled his young son. The boy's laughter, heard so seldom these days, was like music to Ivan's heart.

While Viktor did not believe in fairy tales, there was one aspect of a child's imagination that Viktor had that Ivan refused to break from him.  
One day shortly before they left for Russia, Ivan returned from the docks when his son looked up from the glossy book he had been reading, threw it in the air in surprise, and made a great effort to hide it under the bed.  
Amused Ivan entered trying to retain a straight face. “Vitya, what are you doing?”  
Viktor faked a smile and twiddled his thumbs, “Nichego.” Nothing.  
Ivan sat next to his son. “And you were reading-”  
“Nichego,” Viktor repeated.  
“Da, ya vizhu” Ivan said. Yes I see. He reached under the bed. “So you will not mind if I look under-” Ivan reached under the bed as Viktor frantically waved his hands and dramatically shook his head mouthing “Nyet.”. Ivan pulled out not one glossy book but several. “-here.” He continued as Viktor face palmed in frustration at getting caught.

Ivan looked closely at the books. They were comic books, American comic books written in English. While Ivan could not read English that well, he recognized many of the titles and characters: Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Spider-Man, The X Men, The Punisher, Justice League, The Escapist, Luna Moth and other comics.  
Many of these issues were very old. The Escapist and Luna Moth even had advertisements for a Hollywood film called “The Scarlet Fox: A Sammy Glick production.” 

“Viktor where did you get these?” He asked. No one had American things unless they were part of the black market. While the Soviet Union had collapsed, American items were still scant and unaffordable in their district of Kiev. Not many could afford them since they cost so much money. How could his six year old son get a hold of them?  
“Boris,” Viktor answered.

Ivan nodded. “Boris. I should have known.” Boris Javorski was a Polish émigré boy at Ivan's school whose parents practically ran the local black market. He was the envy of other school children because he often came to school with American items: toys, cameras, rock and pop cassettes, sneakers, bubble gum, VHS tapes, candy, sunglasses, trading cards and others. Children traded their items in for some of his then traded with each other. Viktor was usually able to resist but Ivan supposed will power only went so far.  
“And what did you trade to Boris for these?” Ivan asked.  
“My coat,” Viktor said innocently.  
Ivan shook his head. “You are going to regret that decision come winter.” Ivan said firmly. Ivan patched and unpatched Viktor's old coat so many times that it was practically see through. He needed a new one anyway.

“Do you know anything about these?” Ivan asked indicating the comic books.  
“Well from what Boris told me of their origins” Viktor said. “ I don't read English so good so sometimes I have to make up what they are doing in the books.”  
He held up one comic. “This is Superman.”  
“Even I know who he is, Vitya,” Ivan teased. “He comes from Krypton and is the Man of Steel.”  
“That's right,” Viktor said. Viktor held up another comic. “This is Batman.”  
Ivan knew who Batman was as well. “He flies like a bat?” he teased  
“Nyet,” Viktor said.  
“He has very sharp hearing and flies at night?” Ivan said.  
“Nyet,” Viktor said.  
“He is small, brown, has wings, lives in a cave?”  
“Nyet,” Viktor said getting frustrated. “Well he does live in a cave. It's his secret laboratory. He dresses up like a bat. His parents were killed so he fights villains out of revenge.”

Ivan nodded and pulled out The Punisher. “And this one?”  
“That's the Punisher,” Viktor said. “He punishes villains because his wife was murdered.”  
“So many of these heroes are out for revenge,” Ivan said.  
Viktor shrugged. Then he looked from the page to his father and back again in surprise. “Papa, he looks like you!”  
Ivan looked closer. “Maybe a little.” Frankly, Ivan didn't see the resemblance.  
“So is he your favorite?”  
No, that's not my favorite,” Viktor pulled out an X Men comic. “This one is my favorite.”

Ivan looked at the figure that his son pointed to. The cover showed a large muscular man with metal skin. He fought against another man in a yellow suit with long claws. “His name is Colossus,” Viktor said. “He is one of the X Men and he is from Russia.”  
“Is that why you like him so much because he is from Russia?” Ivan pointed in the direction of their former country, his former country.  
“Nyet, Papa,” Viktor said. “Because he's you!”  
“I thought you said the other man-the Punisher-was me,” Ivan said.  
“Nyet he just looks like you,” Viktor said. “Colossus is you!”

Ivan looked at the picture pretending to examine it closely. “Well it is not a very good likeness. I don't have metal skin.”  
“Papa,” Viktor whined. He opened the pages and showed that Colossus, a very strong character, beating someone that Ivan assumed was a villain in red armor who moved things with magnetic hands. “Boris said he lived on a collective farm and his brother was a cosmonaut and his sister is another X Man but I know the truth. I think Colossus used to be a boxer in Moscow. Now he lives in Kiev and he's poor, but he uses his strength to fight villains.” He pointed to the villain. “I make this story your fight with the American. See he's fighting his opponent who he used to battle in the ring but is now a supervillain.”  
He pointed to an earlier illustration that showed the man in red fighting a small blue furry creature . “See the other man defeated Colossus’ or your friend, I think it's Dyadya Sasha and hurt him really bad, so Colossus seeks revenge. You say 'How dare you hurt him, I show you!’ So you fight him even though the Mad American-that's what I call him-wants to kill you.” Viktor turned to the page of Colossus fighting the magnetic man.  
. “This is in the story, da?” Ivan wondered if somehow Viktor knew or guessed the truth.  
“Da,” Viktor said. “I don't know what the American hated you for-” He paused as if he waited for his father to tell him. Ivan didn't speak so Viktor continued. “So I make up that it was revenge like the others.”  
“Something like that,” Ivan muttered. Of course he wasn't about to say whose friend actually was hurt, who it was who hurt him, and who it was that sought revenge. He flipped through the pages. “And I win this version of the fight against the Mad American?” Ivan asked.  
“Of course you do,” Viktor said. He pointed at the last panel where Colossus stood over his enemy triumphant. “You beat the American because you defeat all villains.”  
Ivan was charmed by Viktor's desire to rewrite history with his comics. “Oh Vitya, how I wish that were true.” He spoke sadly but he cleared his throat to change the subject.  
“Ya vizhu, I fight villains do I?” Ivan said. “In between working and caring for my son when do I do this and how is it you have never seen me do this?”  
“Well you don't do it while I'm awake, obviously,” Viktor said putting his hands on his hips and speaking in a tone like it was a dumb question. “That would reveal your secret identity!”  
Ivan laughed and tickled his son. “Vitya, you are one strange child.” 

After the two settled down. Viktor's lip quivered in fear. “I am not in trouble about my comic books am I? Boris said I might get in trouble if someone finds out about them.”  
Ivan ruffled his son's hair. “Vitya of course not.” Viktor didn't understand what he was reading and didn't know whether or not they were American propaganda. He just liked the pictures and stories.  
If he wanted to have a little imagination and fantasy in his life and think that superheroes really existed and his father was one let him, Ivan thought. Under the circumstances, Ivan was just grateful that none of the comics were Captain America. He couldn't imagine explaining that one to his impressionable son.  
“So you won't tell on me?” Viktor asked.  
Ivan smiled. “Would Colossus tell on the other X Men?” Viktor shook his head as he and his father made up other stories to go with the illustrations and English words.

Ivan knew that Russia changed but he was not prepared for how much it had until he and Viktor emerged from the train and walked through Red Square.  
Ivan couldn't believe that this was the same city that he left. Once everything was sedate and austere. People wore somber colors and went about their business. There was always a feel of quiet and resignation that while wasn't always good was something that Ivan had long grown used to.  
That wasn't the Moscow that Ivan saw before him. There were bright colors everywhere and in nearly every market, Ivan could see Western merchandise. Characters that he recognized like Superman and Mickey Mouse and clothing and technology brand names that he didn't. Rock and Roll music pumped through the loudspeakers.  
Everywhere that Ivan and Viktor went, Ivan saw young people dressed in blue jeans and t-shirts and they spoke fast and enthusiastically on any topic. Ivan remembered his shock at seeing his ex-wife made up with her styled hair, large jewelry and pampered body. She looked so different and overdone. Now Ivan saw that same look everywhere. Many women wore heavy cosmetics, several pieces of jewelry, and teased hair. Everything was too bright, too loud, too artificial, too….American.

Ivan looked at his former city with derision, confusion, and some longing for the past. Was this why the Soviet Union ended? So the people could become Americans? What happened to the Russia Ivan knew? Was it buried underneath the t-shirts, loud voices, and teased hair? Ivan as much as anyone wanted to see an end to the Soviet Union, but was this the way to go about it? Or was Ivan in the wrong? Shouldn't they be happy after so much control and repression? Had he outgrown his former country or had it outgrown him?

Ivan and Viktor checked into a small hotel, which had all of the modern conveniences including a television in the lobby. As Ivan paid for the room in cash, he glanced at the program which was a documentary about the failures of the Soviet system. The focus was on athletics and Ivan winced as footage of his fight with Rocky Balboa shown on the screen. He could hear the sardonic announcer talk about how Ivan Drago had access to the best technology and was known to use anabolic steroids and still managed to be defeated by “an underdog American.” The screen then changed to a bloody Rocky telling with a translator “If I can change and you can change everybody can change!”

Natalya, a young desk clerk in her late teens glanced in surprise from the TV screen to the man before her. “Aren't you?-”  
“No,” Ivan said embarrassed. “I'm not. I'm no one. I get mistaken for him all the time.”  
“Of course you aren't,” Natalya said clearly not believing him.

“Are things really better here?” Ivan asked.  
She nodded and picked up a Walkman from underneath the desk. “I think so.” Natalya offered the former boxer to listen through her headphones. “I love to listen to the music. This is one of my favorites by Sting.”  
Ivan listened as she pushed play on her cassette player. He heard the strains of a familiar classical piece, Prokofiev if he remembered correctly from his musical studies at the orphanage. He heard the lyrics: “We share the same biology regardless of ideology/What might save us me and you/Is if the Russians love their children too.”  
Ivan removed the Walkman from his ears and returned it to the desk clerk. “We do,” he said glancing at his son watching the television set.  
Natalya shrugged. “I just like the song.”

Ivan and Viktor walked by their old apartment. The complex had been torn down and Ivan could see advertisements for newer upscale condominiums. Welcome to the New Moscow, Ivan thought sarcastically.  
They then walked to Yevgeny Koloff's house. Ivan felt his heart leap in his throat as he knocked on the door. How would Ludmilla greet them? What after all this time would they have to say to each other? Viktor timidly hid behind his father. It made sense Ivan thought sadly, his mother was a complete stranger to him.  
The door opened as a grey haired maid appeared. A maid, really? Ivan thought in disbelief at his former wife's lover’s pretension. What is next a robot servant?

“May I help you Com- uh Ser?” She asked. Ivan supposed that over seventy years of Communism and “Comrade this”and “Comrade that” cannot be replaced so easily in eight months.  
“I would like to speak to Yevgeny Koloff or Ludmilla Dra- Vobet please?".  
The maid shook her head. “I am sorry, Ser. Neither the master nor the mistress are here. They are in Paris.”  
“Do you know when they will return?” Ivan asked.  
“Not for another month at least,” the maid said. “Is there a message that you wish for me to give her?”  
Ivan shook his head. There were plenty of messages that he would like to give Ludmilla but none she would like to hear. “Nyet Spasibo,.” He stepped from the doorway. “Come Vitya.” He took his son's hand and led him away from the house. As Ivan looked back at the house, he thought he saw a slight movement at one of the upstairs curtains as though someone were watching. He peered closer but he saw nothing.

Ivan led Viktor to the Fallen Monuments Park. Natalya suggested that Ivan see the place. “It's where they put all the old things,” she said.  
The sun was setting and in the evening, the park looked ominous. Ivan reverently walked through the statues. Busts and sculptures of Lenin, Stalin and other leaders filled the area. He recognized figures made by Soviet-era workshops and their craftsmanship. 

Viktor stood not moving and shuddered. Ivan suspected that it wasn't from the cold even though the night air was starting to cool. “This place is strashno, Papa,” he said. Scary. “They look like prizraki.” Ghosts.  
“Vitya, you know there are no such things as ghosts,” Ivan corrected.  
“But they look mertvykh,” Viktor said. Dead.  
Ivan placed his hands on a sculpture of Felix Dzerzhinsky. How often did he know and memorize these names? How often was he made to honor, revere, practically worship the names of Vladimir Lenin, Karl Marx, Josef Stalin, Dzerzhinsky and others? He and many other children memorized whole chapters of The Communist Manifesto. What did children study in Russia now? Now these leaders, men and women were reduced to rubble observing the changed world around them while they remained frozen in time. Viktor was right. They were dead. Dead men. Dead women. Dead ideals. Relics of the past. Was Ivan a relic as well? Was he as dead as these statues?

Ivan could have stayed all night just looking at the statues, still as they were, wondering. Thinking. A small hand tugged at his sleeve. “Papa can we go now? I don't like it here.”  
Ivan returned back to reality at his son's voice. It was so rare that Viktor disagreed or challenged his father about anything. “Alright, Vitya,” he said. Ivan arose as he and Vitya prepared to leave. 

On the way out, they bumped into a blond man with scars on his face. “Pomilovanje,” the man said. Pardon.  
Ivan returned the greeting.  
“Come to remember the past?” the man asked indicating the Monuments Park. Ivan recognized an English accent. The man glanced at Viktor in a way that was somehow regretful and wistful. He waved at the boy who waved back.  
“Something like that,” Ivan said not in the mood to talk. “You?”  
“I've come to bury mine,” the man said. The Englishman moved his hand inside his pocket and out of the corner of his eye, Ivan thought he could see a holster with a gun inside. Ivan shrugged. It wasn't his business.  
The Englishman disappeared as Ivan moved his son forward. “Come Vitya,we must return to the hotel so we can sleep and go to Elyakovo tomorrow morning.”  
Viktor smiled delighted at the prospect of seeing his honorary Uncle Sasha and Aunt Ayzere again. He and his father left the park as a car pulled up driven by an attractive dark haired woman with a dark haired man in the backseat.

On the bus to Elyakovo, Viktor chattered in a way that Ivan hadn't heard from him in sometime. He was excited about visiting his Tatiya and Dyadya. Ivan offered a small smile at his son's barrage of words. “I should show them my comic books,” Viktor said. “Dyadya will like them.”  
Ivan knew he would. In his letters, Sasha still sent Viktor written portions of epic hero stories like when he orally told them while they traveled during the Breads and Circuses. Epic hero stories like Odysseus, Hercules, Perseus, Theseus, Achilles, Jason and others.  
“I'm sure he will talk constantly to you about these books and about everything else,” Ivan teased remembering his loquacious friend.  
“Do you think that when we move to Russia, we might live with them?” Viktor asked.  
“I don't know Vitya,” Ivan said. “I do not want to depend on their charity. But we will see them often.”  
The driver then called to exit Elyakovo. Ivan picked up his son and carried him out of the bus shifting through several passengers.

Elyakovo was a small village so Ivan knew that he should see the Orimenkos’ home from the road but he didn't. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach as he set Viktor down. Father and son walked down the road to his friend's home. What was left of it.

Ivan and Viktor stared in shock at the remnants of a once cheerful but impoverished house. Only ashes and the framework of the hut remained.  
“What happened Papa?” Viktor said.  
“I do not know Vitya,” Ivan said. “I do not know.”

“Hey,” a strident voice commanded. Ivan and Viktor turned to see a man glaring at them. He wore a long coat but Ivan could tell by his stride that he was once a soldier. “Who are you and what is your purpose here?” The man asked.  
“Who are you?” Ivan asked.  
“Vitaly Grinkov,” the man said. “I am in administration here. I ask you again who are you and what is your purpose?”  
“I am here to see Sasha and Ayzere Orimenko,” Ivan asked.  
“Who are they?” He asked.  
Ivan was confused. Elyakovo was not by any means a large village. Grinkov would know who they were. Something about his indifferent face told Ivan that he didn't care who they were.  
“They were the old couple who used to live here,” he said. “Sasha is a large Ukrainian man with a white beard. Ayzere is a small dark haired Kazakh woman. They used to attend the Bread- uh prize fights.”  
Grinkov nodded in realization. “I know who you are talking about. Are you a relation?”  
“Nyet,” Ivan replied. “I knew them.”  
“They are both dead,” Grinkov said. 

The air was silent except for Viktor's gasp. “When did this happen?” Ivan asked.  
“March of the previous year,” he answered.  
“How did they die?” Ivan asked.  
Grinkov responded dispassionately. “They were considered political prisoners scheduled to be removed to Siberia. They resisted especially the woman. She was shot after she was raped.”  
“And Sasha?” Grinkov looked like he couldn't even remember their names. Ivan wanted to kill him. The least he could do was remember their names. “The man.” Ivan said.  
“Ah he attacked after his wife died and he was shot in the stomach,” he said. “Surely, you know what happens after that.”  
Ivan nodded. He remembered from his time in Afghanistan. Getting shot in the stomach was the worst place to get shot. In the head or chest brings immediate death. In the stomach is a long painful death that can last hours.  
“He also died,” Ivan said softly.  
“After two hours,” Grinkov said.

Viktor began to sob uncontrollably. Ivan gave his son's shoulders a tight squeeze. He forced himself to remain calm but inside he was just as sad as his son. Sasha that kind talkative man and Ayzere who protected her loved ones like a fearsome tigress were dead? Because they were considered political prisoners? Ivan lowered his head in respect.  
“Where are they buried?” Ivan asked. He wanted to pay respects.  
Grinkov looked confused. “Buried? They were not buried. They were burned with their home.”  
Ivan shook his head. “They could not even have the decency to bury them?”  
“You are not a soldier,” Grinkov guessed.  
“I was,” Ivan answered.  
“Then you know that there is no time for such things,” he replied. “They must be an example to all dissidents.”  
Vitaly Grinkov spoke with such conviction and such a sadistic pleasure that Ivan knew he was no mere observer to the events.

“You were a part of it,” Ivan accused  
He did not even argue. “I was,” he said. “ It was a waste of time. They were peasants, nobodies just some old couple.”  
Ivan stared in silence. Viktor spoke for both of them. “They weren't just nobodies! They were my Tatiya and Dyadya! They were our friends!” He pushed forward ready to attack but his father pulled him back and held his shoulders.  
Ivan stared wordlessly at the man who smiled and began to laugh at the boy's impudence. “What does it matter? They were old and weak. If they died, they died!” Grinkov laughed but that ended quickly when he saw the expression on Ivan's face.

Ivan struck hard and fast. When Grinkov fell down, Ivan's rage still consumed him so he picked him up and beat him again and again. At first Grinkov was too confused but he got up and started beating Ivan as well. Ivan beat him again. “For what you did to them, you should die!”  
Viktor stood behind him aiming his fists and studying his father's fighting skills. He copied his moves and yelled, “Get him, Papa!”

Vitaly Grinkov moved away from Ivan as he picked up a piece of wood planning on defending himself. “I was only following orders! A former soldier would understand that!”  
Ivan held his opponent by the lapel pinning him against a wooden fence. “Who gave such an order?” At first he didn't respond but Ivan shook him again. “I ask you again who gave such an order?”  
“Our captain,” he said.  
“Who is your captain?” When he received no answer, Ivan spoke quiet and deadly. “I do not like repeating myself who is your captain?”  
“Bela Smirnov,” Grinkov stammered.  
Ivan almost dropped him in surprise. Smirnov? That officious Captain who ordered the end of the prize fights and Ivan's deportation. “Where is Smirnov now?” Ivan asked.  
“He took a bullet to his own head shortly after the Coup,” the soldier explained. “I suffered as well. I was removed from the Army and am stuck in administration in this backwater village.”  
“That doesn't compare to what happened to them!,” He continued to beat the man bloody until he fell to the ground.  
Ivan picked up the wooden plank that the man dropped and held it over Grinkov’s head. He wanted to kill or at least blind him.  
“Who are you?” Grinkov asked.  
Ivan knew the perfect answer to that question, one that would make Sasha proud. “I am Nobody,” he said.

“Papa don't,” Viktor said. Ivan looked towards his son. Viktor went from supportive to terrified. He may have been alright with his father beating the man and avenging their friends, but he did not want to see his father kill someone in cold blood, someone who was clearly no longer in any position to defend themselves.  
Ivan dropped the plank and reached for his son. Viktor looked scared of his father, but he slowly approached him.  
“Come we will leave,” Ivan said. He turned away but not before he turned back to Vitaly Grinkov still paralyzed with fear. “You have Nobody to thank for your troubles-Nobody but yourself!” Ivan declared before he kicked him in the ribs.

Ivan stood in front of the Soviet-uh Russian Federation Athletics Department Building. The building looked older slightly faded but still looked the same except the hammer and sickle flags were gone replaced by the new red, white, and blue flag. The inside was sleeker and more modern with new office equipment and a larger staff. Ivan glanced at the walls. The imposing pictures of Karl Marx, Vladimir Lenin, and Josef Stalin as well as the illustrated advertisements showing the Soviet Athletes with their giant bodies, domineering features, and their flags and USSR symbols were gone. Instead they were replaced with corporate advertisements, photographs of Athletes in their events, and a portrait of Russian Federation President Boris Yeltsin. Idly Ivan wondered if the original office decor was also at Fallen Monuments Park.

Ivan sat next to Viktor as they waited. He wouldn't admit to it but Ivan was nervous so much that his hands were shaking. He put one hand on top of the other to stop them. He rested his now still hands on top of his folder of recommendation letters. He mentally went over his answers. He was going to be prepared this time. He was ready.

An assistant called his name. Ivan arose and almost took Viktor's hand but then he remembered. The Committee would certainly mention Apollo Creed and Rocky Balboa. Ivan was not about to let his son learn that he was a killer and failure. He knew about his father's match with Rocky but somehow the boy turned it around in his head as a victory. Unlike his father's last meeting, Viktor was old enough to understand what they were saying, process it in his head, and change his perspective of his father based on that. Ivan could not let that happen.  
Let Viktor hold onto the one good thing he has left in his life: the belief that his father is a hero, Ivan thought. Don't let him know the real me.

Ivan knelt down. “Vitya, I need you to wait here. I will be a few minutes.”  
Viktor looked disappointed. “Alright Papa.”  
Khoroshiy Mal'chik,” Ivan said. Good boy. Ivan kissed his son on the forehead. “I will be right back.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Viktor open his Colossus comic book. Ivan hoped the Colossus in Viktor's life could face his enemies and win just like Viktor believed he could.

Ivan walked into the committee meeting room. He felt his mouth go dry and his palms sweat. It was strange. When he was in the ring, he had no problem defending himself. He could fight with his fists or a look. Now he had to fight with his voice, and he was scared to death.  
No wonder I let other people speak for me he thought. He remembered when he first encountered the Committee and how other people talking for him became such a crutch that he was unable to speak for himself. Not this time. From now on, Ivan Drago alone would speak. No buffers, no promoters, no managers, no nothing. Just Ivan.

He opened his folder as eight Committee members entered except the Director.  
The Committee members were a larger number than last time. They numbered nine instead of seven. Ivan recognized five from the previous encounter. Two new members were women and one was a younger man. Ivan kept his eyes focused staring the members down the same way he used to with boxing opponents. None of the opponents scared him and he was not about to let some people in business suits frighten him either. He was ready. He was confident. He would win.  
Then the Director of the Russian Federation Athletics Department entered the room and sat down.

Ivan felt a chill go through him as Nikolai Koloff, his former manager/promoter gave Ivan a smug grin. “The meeting to discuss the reinstatement of Ivan Alexeyevich Drago to the Russian Federation Boxing Team Begins now.” He banged his gavel. “Privet Ivan.” Hello Ivan.

One of the members handed Koloff the folder. “I do not need to reread these tedious files. I am well acquainted with this case.” He said. “Drago you are aware that you must tell the truth and that your responses will be researched so lying is pointless. Do you understand?”  
“Da Director, “Ivan said barely forcing the title out of his mouth.  
“Then let us proceed,” Koloff said. “You do have your tongue do you not?”  
The Committee members laughed as Ivan said through clenched teeth. “Da Director.”

The members asked him various questions. “Have you tested positive for steroids?”  
“Nyet,” Ivan answered. “I have not taken any in over six years.”  
A female member raised her hand. “Drago your letters are quite impressive and it is clear that you are still physically fit. At your age 30 years old are you still able to box as you did when you were on the Soviet team?”  
“I believe so,” he said. “My strength is as good as it was and I believe that my stamina is better than it was. I am able to last longer in the ring without tiring.”  
“According to these letters your punching average is significantly lower than it was previously,” a male member said. “Before you were quite impressive at 1850, 2100. It is now at 700 lbs.”  
“Disappointingly average,” Koloff interjected as though average was the lowest rung on the ladder.  
“Well since my suspension in 1986, I have not had access to the higher quality equipment and had to rely on what I had,” Ivan said. “I am able to improve and implement my technique rather than relying solely on blunt force.”

Another female member spoke. “Drago because this country is in the process of great political and socioeconomic change, we have to ask about your politics. You were once held as the Soviet Premiere fighter and was a Captain awarded the Order of Lenin. Do you have a fondness for those days?”  
Ivan understood the real question. Was he a part of any resistance group to the new government hoping to return to the glories of the Soviet Union and Communism. “I do not,” Ivan said. “I have seen much in the past five years that has made me question my former allegiances.”  
“Are you involved in any organizations in the Ukraine?” She asked.  
“Nyet,” Ivan responded.  
“Do you have a preference to be a part of the Russian or the Ukrainian team?” She asked. “Your mixed breeding, half-Russian and half-Ukrainian suggests that you could go either way.”  
“Russia,” Ivan answered. “The Ukraine is where I was sent and where I currently live but Russia is my home.”

Another male member spoke. “Drago you have not fought in any matches professionally nor amateurishly in the past three years. What have you been doing with yourself during that time?”  
“I have been working and caring for my child,” Ivan said. Koloff gave him a sarcastic look that practically screamed 'Are you sure he's your child?’ “I am currently employed as a stevedore in Kiev.”  
“You are divorced and your child is in your sole custody correct?” he asked.  
“Da”, Ivan answered.  
“And you still train?” The first woman asked obviously impressed.  
“Every morning before dawn,” Ivan answered.  
“Should we accept you to return will this be a hardship for either of you?”, one of the men asked.  
“My son and I are used to hardships much worse than that,” Ivan said dryly. “But it will not be.”

The younger male member raised his hand. “Drago you were responsible for the death of another boxer in the ring. I believe you can understand our reluctance to reinstate you from that alone. The world will be watching us to show that we are different than who we were. How can we be sure that such a thing will not happen as it did with Apollo Creed?”  
Ivan considered. “For one I am not as powerful a fighter as I was. I no longer destroy whatever I hit.” He sneered at Koloff who glowered. “Also because I have no steroids in my system I am a more controlled fighter.”  
“If an interviewer mentions your previous fight against Creed how will you address that?”  
“That I was a different person then,” Ivan said. “I have learned much. That has caused me to reconsider the things that I have done and to account more for the weaknesses of others. Apollo Creed was an older man and I should have taken that into consideration.”

There was a tense silence as Koloff raised his hand. “I have one final question, Drago. You have proven yourself to be an embarrassment, a disgrace to Russian sports! Much time and money was wasted training and promoting you. You humiliated your country in the eyes of the world and made a fool out of all of us! You are fortunate that you are not in Siberia for those actions!”  
Ivan glared at his former manager. For a moment it was just the two of them: manager and boxer. “Da Director?” He said not wanting to play his hand.  
“Then my question is this, why should this Committee no this sport waste it's time with you again? You are clearly not worth any of that time or promotion or money! You lost to a soft older American, Rocky Balboa. How do you account for that and how can we guarantee this won't happen again?”  
“As I mentioned, Director,” Ivan said. “I am both a different boxer and a different person. My style and techniques have improved as did my stamina. If Russia is ready to be a different country and is ready to put the past behind them then I should be permitted to as well. I am a fighter and I am prepared to fight once again.”  
“Fight to win for you or for Russia,” Koloff said.  
“Both,” Ivan answered.

Koloff looked to the other Committee members as they talked quietly. Ivan stood at attention. In what seemed like an eternity, the Committee members faced the former boxer. Their faces revealed nothing except Koloff's. His leer told Ivan everything he needed to know.  
“It is decided Ivan Alexeyevich Drago, you will not be permitted to be reinstated to join the Russian Federation team.” Ivan stood stone faced and silent as Koloff continued. “We might have forgiven a death in the ring, we were even going to overlook your other problems.” Like the steroids you gave me, Ivan wanted to say. “But this Committee cannot afford to waste it's time on a boxer who disgraced himself and his country. The truth is Drago you are old! You failed us in your prime and we cannot conceive of reintroducing a proven failed has-been into the sport when we have so many younger boxers. Now by the suggestions of my illustrious colleagues” Ivan could hear him say 'Not my own.’ “Your ban has been slightly lifted. You are still forbidden from participating in the sport. Though if you wish to train others in the Ukraine that is entirely up to you. However not as a Russian! This case is closed.” He banged the gavel.

Ivan was furious as he exited the meeting room. Viktor looked up. “How did it-oh?” He saw his father's expression and realized how it went.  
Ivan moved his son off the chair. “So what happens now?” He asked.  
“We return to Kiev,” Ivan said knowing that they had no other choice. “There is nothing for us here.” Viktor took his father's hand as the two walked out the door. Ivan furiously threw his copies of the letters, the useless letters, in the garbage outside.  
They reached the cold air of the outdoors when an unwelcome voice called from behind. “Drago a word with you,” Koloff said.  
Ivan and Viktor turned around as Ivan faced his former manager. There were times when Ivan wasn't sure who he hated more Nikolai Koloff or Rocky Balboa. No he knew. At least Ivan could respect Rocky.

“I was not informed that you were the director,” Ivan said.  
“I was promoted two weeks ago and I told them not to tell you,” Koloff said.  
“Why?” Ivan asked.  
“And miss the expression on your face?” Koloff said with a laugh then he became serious.  
“You wasted your time coming here,” Koloff said. “Our minds were made as soon as we received those infernal letters.”  
“All of yours or just yours?” Ivan asked.  
“Well mine was, the others needed a bit more persuasion.”  
“From your pocket,” Ivan guessed. Koloff just smiled at the accusation of bribery.  
“You see Ivan you came here probably thinking this was the New Russia, but no it's the same old Russia. Whether we are Communist or Capitalist, the true power lies not in ideology but in the ruble,” Koloff said. “That is something people like you never seem to understand. All we have to do is make the right friends, chant the proper slogans, turn some coats, keep money hidden away in far- away accounts, and pass a few rubles around to the appropriate causes or the right influential people. Then people like me will always rule over people like you.”  
“A few months of excitement followed by years of corruption and tyranny with the same faces still leading us,” Ivan said quoting Sasha's words. How right those words were now.  
“If you like,” Koloff said not bothering to deny it. “But one thing we cannot and will not abide is failure! You failed us once and I do not tolerate a weak foolish failure of a man who needed to be blood doped before he could show anything resembling real talent!”

In a fury Viktor let go of his father's hand and ran up to the Director. He clawed at and punched Koloff like a feral cat gone mad. “How dare you say that about my father!”  
Koloff laughed as he pushed the boy off of him. “Ivan you might as well spend your time training this puppy for all the good it will do!”  
“You leave my son out of this,” Ivan warned.  
Viktor ran back to Koloff and attacked him again. “My father is not a failure! My father is a hero!”  
Koloff calmly removed himself from the boy. Ivan held Viktor by the shoulders as he struggled trying to fight the older man. Koloff knelt down and grinned at Ivan as if he found the coup de grace in destroying Ivan's life. He leaned over to Viktor and looked the boy directly in the eye. “Your father is a murderer!”  
“Koloff tishina,” Ivan said deadly. Silence.

Viktor's mouth dropped open but he still glared firmly at his adversary. “You are a liar!”  
Koloff had an expression of false surprise. “You mean he never told you about Apollo Creed, the American man he killed in the ring?”  
Viktor struggled. “It's not true, tell him Papa!” The boy's eyes met with his father. Ivan didn't respond. Didn't react. “Tell him Papa.” Viktor said again this time his voice was less determined and more pleading. “Papa?”  
“Oh yes your father the hero murdered a man in the boxing ring in the second round. It was during an exhibition match where was it again Ivan in Los Angeles?” He expected no answer so Koloff continued. “I remember now, It was in Las Vegas! Why do you think he fought that American Rocky Balboa?” Tears fell down Viktor's face and he stopped struggling. “Creed was his closest friend. In fact it was Balboa who your father was supposed to fight but Creed stepped in instead. Well your father did what he did to Creed. Balboa challenged him. So your father fought Balboa and lost! Honestly, we would have been better off promoting and training Balboa at least he succeeded.”

Ivan looked downward at his son. The boys expression just about broke his heart. Viktor not only believed Koloff but when he met his father's eyes, he knew it was true.  
Koloff rose and turned around. “Well I am finished here for good I hope. Dasvidaniya, Ivan. I really hope never to see you again.”  
He was about to walk away when Ivan removed himself from holding his son. “Nikolai,” he called bitterly. Koloff turned around just as Ivan's fist met his face.  
“700 lbs is still a good punch,” Ivan mocked. “Dasvidaniya, Nikolai.”

Ivan then motioned his son forward. “Come Vitya. Viktor stood still for a moment. Ivan then waved his son forward. “Vitya, come.”  
Viktor absently flipped through his comic books until he pulled out Colossus. He slowly walked to the garbage can and threw the comic in the trash before he joined his father.

Ivan and Viktor were silent during the return trip to Kiev. Ivan shook his head remembering all of the foolish fantasies that he had for a better life for himself and his son. It would never happen now. All they would have from now one would be Kiev, poverty, and each other.  
Ivan glanced at his son who looked out the window in sadness avoiding his father's gaze. Ever since Koloff revealed what Ivan did, Viktor pulled away from his father as though he were afraid of him.  
Ivan unlocked the door to their apartment as he and Viktor entered. He picked up the mail knowing most of them were money statements saying how much he owed. Ivan thumbed through them to see a personal letter with familiar handwriting: his handwriting. He barely acknowledged the “Return to Sender” on the front or the unsealed lip in the back. He was used to Ludmilla returning his letters except he looked at the return date. It would have been sent back while Ivan and Viktor were in Russia. He realized that Ludmilla had been in Russia the whole time and may have even known they were there. He thought someone was watching them at Yevgeny Koloff's house. Now he knew.  
Ivan tossed his letter to Ludmilla in the trash then sank next to the kitchen table. He buried his heads in his hands feeling like he was moving through ice cold water. He never felt so alone. So defeated.

Ivan tucked his son into bed and sat over him smoothing his hair. He sat next to his son in silence until Viktor's small voice quivered. “Did you mean to kill the American?”  
Stunned at such a mature question coming from a six year old, Ivan considered. Did he? He couldn't remember what was going through his head at the time. He was barely conscious of the shouting all around him from Creed's supporters. He remembered one probably Duke saying that it was supposed to be an exhibition.  
Didn't Ivan shove the referee? Did that mean he didn't want the fight to be stopped? All he could remember were his gloved fists connecting to Creed's body and him not striking back. He remembered the final punch and Creed going down. He remembered the chaos and Rocky and Duke running towards him. He remembered Mary Anne’s wail from across the room. He remembered Apollo lying on the ground and shaking and the blood. He always remembered the shaking body and the blood.  
Ivan looked directly at his son. “I don't think that I did.”

“So why did you do it?” Viktor asked.  
Ivan wasn't sure how to answer that. He thought of the things that he had been taught, the training that he received, everything. “Well many reasons,” he said. “I was very powerful to the point that I didn't know my own strength. I had been given something that I should not have taken and the American was much older than me. His age made him weak.”  
Sure whatever helps you sleep at night, Ivan could hear a sardonic voice in his head. It sounded familiar to Ivan somehow.

“So it was an accident?” Viktor asked.  
Ivan nodded. “Da, that's all it was an accident that he died in the ring.”  
'Died in the ring?’ The voice mocked 'Died in the ring?’ Why don't you just say it. You killed a man!  
Ivan silently begged the voice to be silent realizing that the voice had an American accent. In fact it sounded like an American black man.

“That's why the American hated you,” Viktor realized. “Because of his friend just like that awful man said. That's why he was able to defeat you.”  
Ivan nodded. “It is like I told you. Hatred made Balboa a warrior.”  
The voice continued. Or it could be Balboa was a better boxer than you and a better man than you'll ever be! The type of man who would go halfway across the world to avenge his friends while you just let yours get killed by the Soviets! Oh you weren't there you are thinking, well whose fault was that? Those people took you in, kept you in the fight, and helped look after your son and how did you repay them? By not being there when they needed you because you were in exile. Oh you fought one of the guys who shot them? Well congratulations, but you ignored them!  
That's why you hated Grinkov so much. He's young you! A mindless grunt soldier who was just following orders. To Hell with your friends. That's why you fought him. You couldn't bear to hear your 24-year-old words coming out of his mouth! Admit it, Drago you pulled the trigger on Creed just as much as Grinkov did on Sasha and Ayzere!

“Nyet,” Ivan moaned. He rubbed his forehead and swayed back and forth.  
“Papa what's wrong?” Viktor asked.  
Ivan took his hands off his forehead. “It is nothing,” Ivan said. “Nichego.” Ivan sat in silence waiting for the voice to say something else. What was going on? Was he going insane or was he haunted by the ghost of Apollo Creed?

“So the American thinks that you are a villain?” Viktor asked.  
Why do you say thinks, the voice sneered. He knows you are a villain!  
“Viktor, there is something that you need to understand,” Ivan looked directly at his son. “The world isn't like your comic books. It is not made up of heroes and villains. It is made up of people who sometimes make the wrong decisions and commit terrible actions and they have to live with the consequences of those actions for a long time. Apollo Creed died in the ring because I hated him. To me, he was an American and my enemy. It became easy for me to beat him. Rocky Balboa defeated me because he hated me. I was a Russian and responsible for his friend’s death so it became easy for him to defeat me. I am not a hero. I am just a man who did something terrible and have had to pay for it ever since.”  
The voice mocked him as Ivan put his hand to one ear to cover up the voice. Which something terrible are we talking about Ivan murdering or losing?

“Do you still hate Apollo Creed and Rocky Balboa?” Viktor asked. “Are they still your enemies?”  
Ivan winced. “I hate that you had to find out this way. I hate that you are looking at me now with such fear. I could never hurt you, Vitya. You know that. I hate that we live here and now I know we will never get out. I hate that no matter how much Russia has changed we are still in exile so we have not. I hate that you have no mother. I hate that our only friends are dead. I hate that we have so many enemies. I hate that my defeat made all of this possible. I hate that the one thing that I excelled at has been taken from me. I hate that I lost and I hate that Creed died. So you ask if I still hate them and are they still my enemies? Then I will have to say, da I do.”  
Viktor thought long and hard. He put his hand on top of his father's. “Then your enemies are my enemies,” he said firmly.  
Ivan wrapped his arms around his son and held him tightly.  
He could almost ignore the voice taunting him, Yes you're a really excellent father aren't you? Raise that boy to hate. Maybe he'll become a failed boxer like his old man.

Ivan stood inside the MGM Grand Hotel in Las Vegas alone just like before that fight with Creed.  
The casino was silent eerily silent except someone danced onto the stage and sang to himself “Living in America, eye to eye station to station.”  
The man came closer as he removed his hat and cape still singing to himself. “Hand to hand across the nation,” he turned to face Ivan as he finished. “Got to have a celebration! I feel good!”  
He smiled. “Hi there Drago. Looks like you came for another American boxing lesson.”  
“What am I doing here Creed?” Ivan asked suspiciously.  
Apollo Creed gave an icy grin that frightened Ivan. The little he had remembered of Creed, he seemed like a gregarious jovial sort not cold like Ivan. “Why it's simple Ivan, I'm taking you back to where you lost.”  
“I lost in Moscow,” Ivan said. “To Balboa.”  
“No you lost long before that, boy,” Creed said. “And now you're gonna learn the hard way!” He took out his gloves. “Now come on it's time to go to school!”  
Their gloves touched like before and just like before Ivan's gloves did not move but this time Creed did not show fear or intimidation. “This time, Drago you will lose.” He said.

Ivan managed to get a few punches in as Creed continued to pummel him. “How do you like it Drago? You like it, Ivanushka-Durachok?” He pounded him again and again. Ivan held up his arms to block but Creed showed no mercy. “You still see me, Drago? You still see my body in your mind? You hear my voice? You were never a good boxer! You were always a failure! You were doped up that's the only reason you ever won!”  
With each verbal blow Creed gave Ivan another physical one. Ivan collapsed to the ground out of energy and unable to fight back.  
Ivan looked up at Apollo through bloody eyes. “Don't worry Ivan,” Creed said. “If you die, you die!”

Ivan sprang out of bed. He placed back and forth and ran his hands through his hair. His dream encounter with Apollo still fresh in his mind.  
Ivan walked over to his son still asleep on his bed. Ivan leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.  
Ivan glanced out the window at the light on the horizon revealing that morning had come. Ivan had to silence the voice in his head, the dreams, the emotions that were threatening to drive him to insanity.  
He needed to find something productive to do something to get his mind off of his rejections from Russia, the deaths of Sasha and Ayzere, his memories of Apollo Creed and Rocky Balboa, and the emotions that would not leave.  
He put on his tracksuit and shoes. Even though he could not box, the least he could do is work out so when he came home he would be too exhausted to listen or care. He opened the apartment door, stepped outside, then broke into a run. He recited the names of his enemies adding Vitaly Grinkov and changing the Soviet Union to Mat Rossiya, Mother Russia, said very sarcastically. He repeated them almost like a mantra or the ramblings of a lunatic.

A year later, Ivan stood over his and Viktor's laundry methodically washing them in the sink. He moved his hands along a pair of Viktor's jeans observing the holes in them. They would need to be patched again.  
Nothing changed in their lives. Ivan continued to slave away at the docks. They had to move once again to another apartment when the old one's rent rose too high. Viktor continued to go to school and was friendless. Many children taunted and bullied him because of their poverty which manifested itself in that Viktor's clothing were often worn and he didn't always have food. Though Ivan really doubted those children had it any better at home. As children would do, they bullied another child that they felt was worse off than them.

Many of the locals in their district spat on Ivan calling him a nobody, a failure. Ivan wasn't sure if they still recognized him or more than likely they thought of him as they did many others, a beggar a poor waste of human life.  
Ivan looked at his reflection through the window. He was beginning to resemble a beggar. He was still strong and built but the suffering and poverty were beginning to reveal themselves. Ivan's once blond hair was now prematurely graying and he was pale with hollowed sunken cheeks, stubble on his chin, and lines on his face. Ivan ran his tongue along his teeth and felt the blood forming from them. They were going bad and yellowing. His back was permanently in pain and his head constantly ached. Ivan was 31 years old and began to look and feel like a man twice that age.

He was still tortured by thoughts of Apollo Creed and Rocky Balboa as well as the nightmares. Some were even more graphic. One had him lying on the ground and seeing his father standing before him. This time it was he who begged his father for help and Alexei who refused to move.  
Another dream he saw the Orimenkos hut burn down as their bodies lay among the ashes. Captain Bela Smirnov stood next to Ivan still in his Army uniform and patted him on the back. “Good Drago,” he said.  
“Anything for Russia,” Ivan said sadistically, dropping the gasoline can that he just used.

The dream that hurt the most was one where Ivan saw Viktor running through Yevgeny Koloff's house in delight. “Papa!” He shouted. Ivan held out his outstretched arms but Viktor ran past him as Yevgeny Koloff picked Viktor up and kissed him. “I missed you, Papa.”  
“I hope you have one for me,” a laughing female voice said.  
“I missed you too Mama,” Viktor said as he hugged and kissed Ludmilla just as fiercely as he did Yevgeny.  
Ivan helplessly raised his fists to strike Yevgeny and Ludmilla but his hands went right through them. “No you stay away from my son!” Ivan commanded but they didn't hear him.  
Yevgeny laughed and teased. “Well since our son is so delighted to see us I guess he won't want to see the gifts we bought him.”  
“No I want to,” Viktor begged. His parents laughed as they took the boy's hand. He marveled at the bicycle and hugged them again. “Spasibo, Papa!” He said to Yevgeny.  
“No Vitya, I'm your father not him!” Ivan yelled. They ignored him as Viktor returned to his gifts and read one of the cards.  
“This is for always being a winner,” Viktor read and opened the package to see a pair of new boxing gloves. “Thank you Mama and Papa. You are winners too not failures.”  
“Like your birth father,” Ludmilla said.  
“Who?” Viktor asked genuinely confused.  
Ivan frantically shook his head not believing what he heard. How could his son not know him?  
“Vitya, I am your father,” he said. But the boy ignored him. “Vitya! Vitya!”

The nightmares were so overpowering that Ivan found it difficult to return to sleep. Some nights he didn't sleep at all but when that happened he stayed awake with his thoughts and regrets that continued to torment him. Sometimes Apollo's voice continued to mock and laugh at him. Ivan was too fatigued to debate which one was worse: the ongoing nightmares or the sleepless remorse.  
Instead he just threw himself into work, exercise, and caring for Viktor mentally receding the screams from the past into dull moans that while we're less sharp never really went away.

Ivan placed the jeans on the clothing rack to dry and glanced at his watch. Viktor should be home from school soon.  
Looking out the window, he could see a pack of abandoned dogs attacking a stray. Though the stray was larger than them and barked back the other dogs clawed and bit him. The dog was seriously injured but continued to fight back against his pursuers.  
The dogs turned around the corner as Ivan put one of Viktor's shirts into the sink.  
A commotion broke into his thoughts. He looked out the window and saw Viktor surrounded by three older boys. They laughed, kicked, and punched Viktor.  
Viktor fell to the ground and at first Ivan wanted to run outside to protect his son but what he saw made him stop for a moment.  
Viktor sprang up and sauntered over to the largest boy. Without another word, he punched the other boy sending him to the ground. The boy sprang up and fought back. Ivan watched fascinated as Viktor managed to take a few swings and defend himself.  
The other two boys also fought Viktor sending him to the ground. Ivan pounded on the window not wanting Viktor to get seriously hurt. “Hey,” he yelled and pounded on the window.  
The boys looked up as Ivan ran outside and faced them. “Get out of here, “ he yelled as he picked Viktor up. “Teper idi!”Go now! The boys were stunned at first but Ivan shouted again. “Teper idi!” The boys ran as if for their lives.

Ivan washed Viktor's hair over the sink as the boy gasped and hyperventilated. “I tried not to cry in front of them,” Viktor said.  
“I know Vitya, I know,” Ivan said. He washed his son's face with a dish rag washing away the blood and cuts. “You know you were quite a fighter out there.”  
“But they defeated me,” Viktor said.  
“Three against one is hardly a fair fight,” Ivan said. “Still you held your own, gave a few hard swings, and even made the other boy bleed. In fact how would you like for me to train you to become a boxer?”  
Despite the pain Viktor managed to give a wide are grin. “Da, I would love for you to. When?”  
Ivan thought. Talent like that could not afford to be wasted. “We start tomorrow evening after school. Today you need to get some food in you and a good night's rest.”  
Viktor nodded as they shook hands ready for the lessons.

The next day, Ivan paced back and forth angrily. Where the Hell was that boy? He was about to leave to look for him when Viktor entered the room carrying a bag.. “The first thing that you will learn is to never be late! Now where were you?”  
Viktor opened the bag. “I had to get these.” He showed his father a pair of boxing gloves.  
“Where did you get those?” Ivan asked.  
“I traded my comic books to Boris,” Viktor said determined without a trace of regret.  
Ivan nodded and led his son outside. “Are you ready Viktor?” He asked emphasizing his son's formal name. The time for childhood diminutive names was over.  
Viktor stood straight. “I am ready...Otets." Father. 

That night Ivan stood over his sleeping son. The boy was of course inexperienced but was determined, ferocious, and persistent. No doubt he would make a good boxer maybe even a better one than his father.  
For the first time in a year, Ivan felt hopeful about the future. It would take years of study and training but Viktor would learn. Ivan could afford to be patient as he would wait for the date when it would be Viktor Drago not Ivan who would step into the ring and hold up his fists in triumph. Viktor Drago would be the one who would get back everything his father had lost.

No Ivan Drago would not allow his son to cry thinking of the things they lost. Instead Viktor would fight. Viktor would train. Viktor would win. Viktor would always win.  
Ivan also glanced sadly at his young son, smoothed back his hair, and wished that he didn't have to do it at all.

Author's Notes:  
1\. Incidentally I remember where I was when I heard about the Coup D'etat. I was 14 years old and was watching the movie, Romancing the Stone in my room when the news flashed along the screen that Mikhail Gorbachev had died. Of course later that night, on the news they revealed that he was still alive. My memories of his resignation are fuzzy but since it was New Year's Eve, we were probably watching Dick Clark's Rockin Eve.  
2\. The bit where Viktor wants honey and his father says it's too expensive comes from a poem (I don't remember the author's name) in which an American woman lived for a time in Russia with her children and had a similar experience with them wanting honey and bread and she refuses for the same reason.  
3\. A lot of people, myself included, compare Creed II to Cobra Kai in that in both cases we get a sympathetic portrayal of a former 80’s villain: Ivan Drago and Johnny Lawrence. So when I wrote the scene where Ivan is telling Viktor his version of the events of Rocky IV and later Viktor retells the story through his X Men comic book, I was greatly inspired by a similar scene in Cobra Kai where Johnny tells his version of the Karate Kid to his protégée, Miguel.  
4\. The Georgia the Country/Georgia the US state bit is a running gag that my family have whenever the country is mentioned. Being Americans, we joke about the state whenever the country is mentioned. (I would guess it's the other way around for Europeans. Someone mentions the US state and they think it's the country.)  
5\. I think of the scene where Ivan punches the punching bag while thinking of his enemies as his “No Easy Way Out” moment. It also reminds me of Arya Stark's vengeance list on Game of Thrones.  
6\. While most of the comic book characters are actual ones, The Escapist and Luna Moth are from the awesome novel, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon.  
7\. The Auburn Red Fanfiction Bylaws have a subclause which reads : “Beware of Gratuitous Cameo/Reference to Other Fanfics.” This time The Escapist and Luna Moth have ads for The Scarlet Fox which is a movie produced by Sammy Glick in my What Makes Sammy Run? Fanfic My Father Sammy Glick. (Incidentally that fic also shouts out to Kavalier and Clay a few times such as when Sammy Glick's older son Max gives his younger son, Chris an Escapist League of the Golden Key Decoder Ring as a symbol of brotherhood.)  
8\. Of course there is a nod to Dolph Lundgren's other role as The Punisher.  
9\. The song that Ivan hears through the Walkman is “Russians” by Sting, another great inspiration for this fic. It reflects many of the themes of this fic and the Rocky and Creed movies in general how Rocky, Creed, and Drago are more similar than different particularly that “they love their children too.” As much as I love the song I always felt the refrain should have been “I know the Russians love their children too” to prove the theme that we are all the same. I always imagined that a Russian parent hearing the song for the first time would have the same reaction Ivan had. (“We do.”)  
10\. Ivan and Viktor's trip through the Fallen Monuments Park is partly based on the scene in Goldeneye (my favorite James Bond movie) where Bond confronts Alec Trevelyan there and also from my favorite Percy Bysshe Shelley poem “Ozymandias”: “Look on my works ye mighty and despair.”  
In fact if you read closely, you will see a tribute to Goldeneye in that the blond scarred Englishman that Ivan bumps into is none other than Alec Trevelyan/006 himself and the man and woman in the car are Bond and Alec's cohort, Xenia Onatopp ready for Bond and Alec's reunion. I couldn't resist a nod to Ivan and Alec, two well known villains with a lot of depth and ties to Russia encountering each other during these moments of great change in their lives.  
11\. The “regretful and wistful smile” Alec gives to Viktor is in reference to a fanfic that has long been on the back burner about Bond's nephew (we learn actual son) James Bond Jr, hero of his animated series of the same name becoming friends then enemies with Alec's son, Nico Havelock-Trevelyan. Like The Unmistakable Fire, the fic called “Sons of Our Fathers” deals with parent and child relationships because we learn not only that Jr. is Bond's son by former Bond Girl Anya Amasova (The Spy Who Loved Me) and he was raised by Bond's cousin and his wife as their son but we learn that Nico is Alec's son by Melina Havelock, the Bond Girl from For Your Eyes Only and that until her death Melina raised Nico alone when Alec left her to begin his revenge campaign against England. (In Goldeneye, it is revealed he blamed his adopted country for the deaths of his parents who were Lienz Cossacks during WWII). So in this fic when he looks at Viktor, Alec remembers regretfully the son he left and missed.  
12\. Don't worry I don't think Apollo is really that much of an a-hole. There is a reason that he's out of character that you'll find out in the next chapter.


	6. Adonis, Rocky, and Viktor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the climactic rematch in Creed 2, Ivan hits an emotional rock bottom. It's up to Viktor, Adonis, and Rocky to pull him out. Warning: Attempted suicide  
> '

The Unmistakable Fire  
By Auburn Red  
A Rocky IV/Creed 2 Fanfic 

VI. Adonis, Rocky, and Viktor

Ivan Drago sat over his comatose son in the hospital. That fight that horrible fight was over. He stood over his son's bedside and ordered him like his fights. “Viktor, voznikat!” Arise! “Prosypaysya!” Wake up! “I order you to wake up!” After awhile of his son not responding Ivan gave up in frustration.

He felt embarrassed that at the fight he wasn't thinking like a trainer judging Viktor's movements, giving him an advantage. Oh he started out well giving his son solid advice like “Up and down! Up and down! Finish him!” Why couldn't he recognize his son's weakness that Viktor had no endurance that since his fights ended quickly never lasting beyond the fourth round he couldn't withstand a long battle? A good trainer would have recognized that especially since it was his own weakness when he was a boxer. He would have used that and turned it around to improve on it making sure that Viktor didn't make the same mistake that he did. The truth was Ivan was a terrible trainer to not foresee that and let his boxer become so defeated.

He didn't intend to be. Ever since Viktor was 7 years old, Ivan trained him endlessly. They exercised, sparred, and trained every day. Ivan pushed and pushed his son to the point that it was a wonder that Viktor didn't break from that.  
He never did. Viktor never questioned, never argued. Occasionally he gave his father annoyed or disagreeable looks but he always accepted whatever Ivan told him. Sometimes Ivan pulled that thread just a little further just to see how the boy would react telling him to run extra laps when he was exhausted, or strike his opponent after he walloped Viktor. He wanted to see if Viktor would fight his father instead. He never did.

There was no laughter. No childish conversations. No loving bond between a father and son like they used to have. They were just a trainer and his boxer who happened to share a last name and live together. Ivan wanted and needed his son to survive the hardship in Kiev so there was never any time for sentiment.

Ivan channeled his hatred of others onto his son. He got a vicarious thrill as his son pounded the punching bag calling his father's enemies’ names now his enemies’ names. Ivan knew his son's hatred could make a warrior out of him and it did. He watched with pride as Viktor knocked out his rivals and showed himself to be as unbroken as his father. All those years, Ivan watched with patience for the day when it would be Viktor's turn to step into the ring.

Ivan only considered stepping back in himself once in 2006. He watched the 24 News getting irritated that his son was late. Ivan’s fork scraped along the plate of fish as he poured himself a glass of vodka. He continued his stevedore job and now also worked nights at an arsenal factory. Ivan was already dressed in his uniform. Viktor needed to be home so they could get in some training before Ivan left for his shift.  
Ivan barely paid attention to the news about the Ukrainian Parliamentary Crisis and Gas Crisis until the anchor mentioned the sports news.

The anchor opened with the death of the former Director of the Russian Federation Athletics Department, Nikolai Koloff. Ivan froze at the name.  
Ivan reached over to turn up the volume as it mentioned that Koloff's career in the Department ended with his dismissal because of accusations of bribery and corruption. He was set to stand trial but instead died of a heart attack. 

Ivan smirked thinking of the man who once bragged about Ivan and then destroyed him. Ivan felt nothing no relief, no remorse nothing. The former boxer raised his glass as if in a toast. “Dasvidaniya, Nikolai, “ he said flatly as he drank.

Another name made Ivan sit up and pay attention. The anchor's voice took a lighter tone as it mentioned that the American boxer, Rocky Balboa came out of retirement. Stunned, Ivan watched footage of Rocky older and gray boxing against a younger man known as Mason “The Line” Dixon. (What kind of nickname was “The Line?” Ivan wondered. What did that even mean?)

Ivan watched the television incredulously as Rocky fought his opponent. The anchor said that the fight ended in a split decision in Dixon's favor.  
Rocky shouldn't be fighting at all. Ivan thought he heard that Balboa had brain damage after their fight. Was that information wrong, just a rumor, the diagnosis inaccurate, or did Rocky just want to go out in a blaze of glory? Like Creed.  
The clip showed Rocky receiving praise from his audience. Ivan shook his head. Just like in Russia he thought enviously. Is there anyone besides me who does not cheer for him? 

Rocky was next to a young dark haired man that looked enough like him that Ivan wondered if he was the son that Rocky wished Merry Christmas to all of those years ago. He was also with two older men that Ivan remembered were his trainer, Duke and brother-in-law Paulie. A young teenage boy and a small dark haired woman also stood with him. Ivan didn't know who they were but he thought the woman was rather attractive in an American way. 

Ivan wondered where Rocky's wife, Adrian was. He didn't see her and Rocky didn't mention her the way he always did after his fights. The little that Ivan had seen of them they appeared happy together and she appeared to be a loyal and supportive wife (unlike other wives he refused to name). Had their marriage changed and were they no longer together? Was she watching the match from their home or was there a reason that she wasn't?

Ivan considered whether he should also reenter the boxing world. After all Ivan was a lot younger than Rocky. Perhaps he could come out of retirement himself. Maybe he could box for the Ukrainian team and eventually face his old foe once more.  
A glance in the mirror ended that train of thought right away. If Ivan wasn't permitted to box at 30 then he sure as hell wasn't going to be allowed at 45. True he was built so was Rocky but Rocky still had the physique and stamina of a boxer. He still looked like he could step in the ring with no problems. Ivan just looked like a grizzled old homeless man asking for spare change outside the arena where the fight was held.

Ivan supposed that he could argue with that. He could train, practice, and build up. He could do something about his decayed teeth and make himself look younger. He could prove to the world and Lud- uh Russia that Ivan Drago was still a champion. He could do all of that but if he were really honest with himself Ivan didn't want to. He was too old and too tired. 

The boxing world was finished with him and he was finished with them. The only thing returning to the ring would do is turn Ivan into a laughing stock. He didn't want that for Viktor or himself. He already was one enough as it was. Ivan's time was over. It was Viktor's turn now.

The door opened as Viktor stepped into the apartment. Ivan could smell the disinfectant that Viktor used in his custodial job on his hands and clothes.  
He dropped his backpack and greeted his father while he listened through his earbuds. The earbuds were something that Viktor had been doing more often lately. Ivan wondered if that was Viktor's sole act of rebellion towards his father to block out his constant stream of commands.  
“You're late,” Ivan accused. Viktor at first didn't listen until his father yanked the earbuds out of his ears.The music was loud enough that Ivan could even hear the lyrics: “I've become so numb/I can’t feel you there/I've become so tired/So much more aware/By becoming this/All I want to do/Is be more like me/And less like you/I've become so numb/I can't feel you there/Tired of being what you want me to be!”

“You're late,” Ivan repeated.  
Viktor blushed embarrassed. He was 19 years old and was one inch shorter than his father. He didn't quite have the muscles yet but Ivan could tell that they were coming. “I'm sorry Father,” he said. “There was this girl that I was talking to after work. She was very pretty and I wanted to ask her out!”  
“No excuses,” Ivan commanded. He filled Viktor's plate with food and slid it over.

Viktor and Ivan ate in silence. Ivan observed his son. Was this a good time to begin his son's professional career? He was young and some began even younger. Ivan considered then dismissed the idea. Viktor was impressive, but still unskilled and raw. He would be no match for Balboa or anyone else for that matter. He still needed better training.  
“You will run after we eat,” Ivan ordered.  
“But I already ran this morning,” Viktor reminded his father.  
“You were off by three seconds,” Ivan commanded. “You need to improve.”  
“Yes father,” Viktor said. “Will you use the truck?”  
“Of course”, Ivan said. After a long time, Ivan and Viktor with their combined earnings managed to scrape enough together to purchase a truck. It was old, rusty, and threatened to break apart but it worked. It proved to be helpful when the two were evicted and slept in the truck homeless until they could afford to live in another apartment. There was also a blanket in the truck which Viktor used to warm himself during those times. There was no extra blanket for Ivan.

The truck was also helpful for Viktor's training because Ivan would chase after Viktor when he ran. If Viktor outran the truck, it was a good day.  
“Yes Father,” Viktor said.  
“As it should be, “ Ivan answered. The two ate again until it was time for more training.

Ivan returned to the present and held his son's hand feeling shame at those thoughts and memories and anguish over what happened to Viktor.  
When he spoke to his son again this time his voice wasn't commanding and fierce. Instead it was pleading begging. “Viktor prosypaysya,” he said. “Please come back to me. Don't leave me...Vitya.”  
In the end in that final round when his son was beaten within an inch of his life and refused to back down, Ivan wasn't a trainer. He was a father who couldn't bear to watch his child getting beaten to death. Sasha's long ago words echoed in his mind: “You are a father first and a boxer second.”

He couldn't watch his own son die. What else could he do but throw in the towel and surrender? And what else could he do when his son pushed him away worried that his father would hate him but hug him and tell him that it was okay and that he was so proud of him? 

Why did Viktor doubt that his father loved him? Did he really think that Ivan would walk away from him and leave him alone the way Russia and Ludmilla did to him? Then Ivan realized of course Viktor doubted. Why wouldn't he? When did Ivan ever show him any affection or praise? Until he threw in the towel and hugged his son, Ivan never told or showed Viktor that he loved him.

The worst part was that Ivan was afraid those selfless actions came too late. As Ivan led his son out of the locker room, Viktor held onto his head in pain. He managed to say, “Father help me, please!” Before he collapsed to the ground.  
Ivan fell to his son's side and screamed for someone, anyone to get an ambulance. For the first time in over 30 years, his mother's miscarriage echoed through Ivan's brain. He felt just as helpless as he did when he was 7 years old and watched his mother almost bleed to death from the trauma that would eventually kill her.

The doctors told him that the repeated blows caused a traumatic brain injury and that he was now in a coma. They worked on him to repair the damage but now the only cure would be time. If there was a cure.  
This shouldn't happen, Ivan thought, I threw that goddamned towel. I wanted to prevent this very thing from happening.

So you can give it to someone else but you can't take it when it happens to someone you care about, Apollo Creed's voice mocked him. Where was that towel throwing then?  
In the 26 years since he first heard it, Apollo's voice came and went in Ivan's mind sometimes receded into the background like white noise. It was like the nightmares, sometimes they faded sometimes they were less severe but they were always there. In times of great emotional stress they came in full force like now.  
Ivan covered his ears, “Tishina!” He said aloud. He breathed a sigh of relief that he couldn't hear it for now. The last thing he needed was to be mentally tormented as his son was going through physical torment. Viktor needed his father not a delirious mad man who heard a dead man's voice in his head.

Ivan glanced over at the room across from them. Adonis Creed was awake and injured as well but he was with Rocky, his wife, Bianca and mother, Mary Anne. They were talking, joking, and laughing. Adonis held up his cell phone clearly in a conversation. From the gestures and high voice that he gave, Ivan assumed Adonis was talking to his infant daughter, Amara on the phone. They were all together but Ivan and Viktor were alone. Ivan envied them.

Ivan picked up his phone and debated whether to call Ludmilla telling her about her son's condition. Ivan shook his head angrily. Ludmilla's actions or inactions as it were at the match spoke volumes. She walked away as though Viktor were a stranger just like Viktor said she was to him. Her expression as she left said it all He's your son not mine. He is just like you. He will never be good at anything, a complete failure. Ivan put the phone down.

Ludmilla didn't give a damn about her ex-husband or her son. She never had. She was a selfish philandering gold digging bitch who only cared about wealth, power, and success. She didn't mind coming to the mansion dinner and reaping the benefits of her son's victories just like she didn't mind bragging to the press about her successful up and coming husband as his spokesperson. But she refused to stick around when it came time to do the heavy lifting of parenthood or standing by her husband or son when others turned against them. She was a fair weather cold hearted woman who abandoned those when things got rough. Ivan was sorry that it took so long for him to realize it.

Why didn't Ivan listen when Viktor tried to warn him that Ludmilla and the others didn't care about them and abandoned them? “They are here for you,” Ivan said. No, in the end Ivan wanted them to be there for him not Viktor. He paraded his son around like a display or a bauble to be admired hoping to get that secondhand glory for himself. The glory that eluded him for so long.  
He hated when the Soviets treated him like a machine a mindless automaton and not a man. How was he any better than them? They did that to someone they didn't know. Ivan did that to his own son! 

Everything that he pushed Viktor to do was a waste. It was a waste to push himself and then his own son to please people who would never be satisfied would never forgive loss or weakness. It was a waste to expect their lives would ever be any different. It was all a waste just like Ivan himself.  
Ivan sighed and repeated the names on his Enemies List counting them off with his fingers. When he spoke, his voice was out of steam. “Alexei Drago.” Sergei Vobet.” “Igor Sergei Rimsky.” “Nikolai Koloff.” “Valentin Popov.” “Ludmilla Vobet-Koloff.” “Apollo Creed.” “Rocky Balboa.” “Bela Smirnov.” “Vitaliy Grinkov.” “Yevgeny Koloff.” “Adonis Creed.” “Mat Rossiya.” He counted one finger in silence then said the name that was at the top of his list the one he hated most of all: “Ivan Alexeyevich Drago.”

This was the result of all that selfish pride all of that pressure. His son lying there in a coma close to death. Ivan expected his son to be a better man than he was and now he will be a dead man and Ivan would be left alone with only his regrets.  
Well should Ivan expect any less? This was what he deserved wasn't it? He killed someone. No Apollo didn't die in the ring. It wasn't an accident. Ivan Drago killed Apollo Creed and now he was paying for it in the worst way possible. 

He remembered telling Rocky “Because of you I lose everything” but as much as he blamed Rocky the ugly truth was everything that happened was his own fault. He didn't lose everything in Moscow when he was defeated. He lost everything in Las Vegas when he beat a man to death in the ring.  
This was his punishment, his own prison, for taking that life long ago. His son, his only reason for being, would die. I deserve this, Ivan thought sadly.

You're damn right, Apollo's voice taunted. But what kind of father are you to let his child suffer like this then die?  
Ivan realized what the voice was telling him. No it wasn't a fair trade: Viktor's life for Apollo's. Viktor deserved to live a full and happy life. He didn't deserve to die so violently because of his father's actions. He didn't deserve to suffer. Ivan knew who did. There was only one really acceptable trade in all of this. The bullet that Ivan fired that night took 33 years but would finally reach the right target.

Ivan leaned over to kiss his son on the forehead. “Pozhaluysta prosti menya, Vitya,” he whispered. Please forgive me.  
He rummaged through his and his son's wallets to pull out 10,000 rubles. He needed money for what he was going to do.

He briefly walked over to Adonis’s room and stood outside where Adonis and the others were still talking. Ivan put his hands on the window and let sorrow envelope him. This must have been how they felt when Apollo died. Now he understood.  
Rocky looked up from talking to Adonis and saw Ivan through the window. His expression should be one of triumph. After all his boy broke Ivan's son. Instead it was one of sympathy and pity. The same look he gave Ivan when they first saw each other in Adrian’s. No don't do this, Ivan mentally warned.

He stepped back from the window and approached the front desk. He asked the receptionist if she had paper and a pen. When she gave the supplies to him, Ivan returned to his son's room and prepared to write four letters: or rather one letter four times. He folded the papers and wrote the names in English on the back: Adonis Creed, Mary Anne Creed, Rocky Balboa, Viktor. He then turned the papers around and wrote the letters in Russian opening the grief and guilt that he had been carrying for 33 years.

Ivan finished off his final letters the ones to Adonis and Viktor. He realized those boys were so similar. Both were raised by only one parent and both suffered by Ivan's hand. Viktor had a terrible father and Adonis had no father at all. He put his signature on the letter as he heard a familiar voice moan, “Otets?”

Ivan stunned saw Viktor open his eyes and look confused at his father.  
“Viktor,” Ivan said. He moved to his son's side. Viktor tried to sit up but Ivan held him firmly down. “Don't try to get up,” Ivan said. “How are you feeling?”  
Viktor held his throbbing forehead. “Like a large train hit me over the head several times.” Viktor lowered his head. “I am sorry I disappointed you, Father. You must be angry.”  
“Of course you didn't Viktor,” Ivan said. “Don't you remember after the match or how it ended?”  
Viktor's face was a blank. “I remember her leaving. I remember Creed hitting me. I remember he kept hitting me again and again. He knocked me out didn't he?”  
Ivan winced. Of course Viktor didn't remember. One loving act did not erase the 26 years of abuse Ivan inflicted on his son. “Something like that. I will go fetch a nurse.” He rose and left the room. He reported that his son woke up from his coma. 

A doctor examined the young man and said that Viktor still had a severe concussion and would still need to be hospitalized for the time being. “Still it is good that he is awake,” Dr. Rumanov said.  
“Yes it is,” Ivan said. He should be happy that his son was awake but he wasn't. Viktor would be fine but he would still be forced to live with that horrible man he called Father. 

Viktor and Ivan talked for a bit as Viktor yawned. “I just woke up and I am already tired again.”  
“Rumanov said that would be natural,” Ivan said. “You just lie back and sleep. Viktor, there is something that I need to do. Now that you are awake, I have to go somewhere else.”  
“Where are you going?” Viktor asked.  
“It is a private matter,” Ivan said.  
“You aren't going to see her again are you?” Viktor asked. Ivan knew which her he was talking about.  
“Nyet, you were right all along,” Ivan said. “I'm sorry for not listening.”  
“I'm sorry that I had to be,” Viktor said. "I wish that you were right." Ivan hung his head. He wished the same thing as well.  
“You will be back soon?”  
Ivan didn't answer. “Just get some rest.” He lowered his son down and said, “Dasvidaniya, Vitya.”  
Viktor gave a small smile. “You haven't called me that since I was 7 years old. I like hearing it again.”  
His words were slurred as he relaxed comfortably and closed his eyes. Ivan didn't answer. Instead he sadly left the room.

It was early afternoon when Ivan left the hospital. He lost track of the days. Was it two or three since the fight? They ran together. He had to purchase something first. He knew where he might get it.  
The tavern was practically empty as Ivan entered. It was afternoon so there were only a few people sitting at tables drinking. Ivan walked up to the bar and ordered a vodka.  
Drowning your sorrows Drago? Creed taunted. Finished writing to the kids and Balboa?  
“Will you leave me alone?” Ivan said aloud.  
Why you even bother? You know they are better than you are! Viktor would be better off being Balboa's kid. His kid loves him! He has a father who is worth admiring!  
“Ukhodi,” Ivan demanded..  
“I can't go away,” the bartender said responding to Ivan's command. “I am giving you your vodka.”

As the bartender set the drink down, Ivan asked. “Pamoloinavije but if I were to purchase a firearm through less reputable sources and no regulations, where could I find one?”  
“You are the authorities?” The bartender asked. Ivan shook his head. “Then you're in luck.” He pointed to the thin wiry dark haired man in the back. “Dimitri will help you with that.”  
Ivan thanked the man, paid for the drink, and approached the arms dealer.

Ivan followed Dimitri to his car where he opened the trunk. Ivan looked through the various weapons, assault rifles, Uzis, handguns.  
“What are you looking for?” Dimitri asked.  
“A handgun will be fine,” Ivan said.  
Dimitri nodded. “I have just the thing.” Dimitri picked up a handgun. “CZ 97B from the Czech Republic, .45 ACP.”  
Ivan picked it up, cocked it, and inspected it. “That will do. How much?”  
“20,000,” he said.  
Ivan didn't have 20,000. “5,000.”  
“18,000.”  
“3,000.”  
“15, 000.”  
“8,000.”  
“12,000.”  
“10,000.” Ivan said.  
Dimitri considered as Ivan was about to walk away .“Done.” They shook hands as Dimitri gave Ivan the gun, bullets, and the holster. Ivan accepted it with thanks.  
This time when he heard Apollo's voice it was chilling, See you soon, Ivan. 

Ivan returned to the hospital with the letters in his hand as he saw an elegant American black woman climb the stairs and nearly enter the hospital.  
“Mrs. Creed,” Ivan called.  
“Mr. Drago,” Mary Anne Creed said confused.  
“How is your son?” Ivan asked.  
Mary Ann smiled. “He's getting better. We might be able to check him out soon.”  
“Good,” Ivan said.  
“How is yours?” Mary Ann asked.  
“He has woken up from coma but still has concussion,” Ivan answered.  
“I'm glad he woke up,” Mary Ann said.  
“So am I,” Ivan said. 

There was an awkward silence. Mary Ann spoke haltingly. “Mr. Drago, I never got to thank you for what you did. If you hadn't thrown in the towel, I don't think either one of our babies would be alive.”  
“Viktor hasn't been baby in sometime,” Ivan said dryly.  
Mary Ann held up a teasing finger. “Uh uh, if you're anything like me no matter how big or old they get, they always going to be our babies.”  
Ivan smiled thinly. “Should have done it sooner.” 33 years sooner.  
“But it was done,” Mary Ann reminded him.

He held up the letters. “You go inside you give these?”  
Mary Ann took the letters and read her name on one. “What are these?”  
“Things that must be said,” Ivan said sadly. “You give them to Balboa, your son...and mine.”  
Mary Ann was confused. “You're not going in there yourself?”  
“I cannot” Ivan said.  
“Well don't you think you ought to?,” Mary Ann asked. “Viktor's awake sure but he needs his father.”  
“I cannot,” Ivan said. “Something I must do.”  
Mary Ann nodded clearly not understanding. “I should probably tell Viktor something at least.”  
“Prizraki Mertvykh,” Ivan said absently as he walked away.  
Mary Ann called “Mr. Drago!” But he paid no attention as he disappeared into the crowd. Mary Ann opened the hospital door hoping to see Ivan in the street but she didn't. Something told her that whatever Ivan was planning wasn't good.

Rocky Balboa walked down the corridor expecting to see his friend, Adonis Creed lying in his bed in his room. Instead he saw him standing outside Viktor Drago's room. “Hey kid,” Rocky said.  
Adonis turned to his mentor. “Hey Unk.”  
For the umpteenth time Rocky mentally crossed himself and thanked any and all saints who were listening that this Creed vs. Drago fight didn't go the way of the original. He should have thrown the towel down this time. What was he waiting for? Another Creed to die at his hand? The hell with Apollo and Adonis's stubborn streaks. Rocky couldn't bear to be haunted by the image of Adonis’s unconscious bleeding body in his arms just like his dad's.  
They were all lucky that didn't happen. Intensely lucky. When the time came Rocky hated himself for not stepping up but was glad someone did. He was just as surprised who it was. Ivan Drago. The man who killed Apollo.

Rocky nodded at Viktor who was sitting up in his room talking to Bianca.  
“Makin’ friends with the enemy?” Rocky teased.  
“We've been talking,” Adonis said. “He's not really that bad a guy. You know we got to talking before the match and he said he didn't hold anything against me personally.”  
“Same thing wit’ me and your dad,” Rocky quipped.  
“ ‘'Sides someone's got to,” Adonis said bitterly.  
“His dad ain't been around?” Rocky asked.  
“He's been the invisible man since Viktor woke up,” Adonis said. “What kind of father does that to their kid ups and leaves them in the hospital?”  
Rocky shrugged. “I dunno, it's hard to say. Maybe he has I dunno like his reasons..”  
“Like what?” Adonis snapped. “You know Viktor told me that his Dad trained him since he was 7! 7 years old! For fuck's sake, I was barely reading chapter books at that age!”  
Rocky remembered how at Adrian's, Ivan compared his life to a stray dog that had no home and went for days without food. “Maybe he was tryin’ to take care of his boy and make sure he survived you know the only way he knew how.”  
Adonis shook his head. “Why are you defending him?”  
“I'm not,” Rocky said. “I'm just tryin’ to understand him.”  
“Far as I'm concerned, he ain't worth understanding,” Adonis said bitterly.

Adonis thought for a little bit. “You know in California, there's this guy, Danny, a buddy of mine that I work out with sometimes. He's a nice guy, owns a car dealership, teaches karate, kind of a big mouth but he's okay. Well when he was in school, this other guy used to bully him. Apparently, the bully, Johnny, also studied karate and his teacher was apparently a real lunatic always pushing his students, abusing them, telling them stuff  
like fear and defeat do not exist in their karate gym-”  
“-dojos they're called -dojos,” Rocky said. Adonis looked confused. “Hey I know other fightin’ sports besides boxin’.”

Adonis continued: “Well anyway Danny's teacher was a good one all about teaching about meditation, defense, and stuff. Long story short when the big tournament came Danny whipped Johnny's ass but good. Flash forward 34 years later and Johnny revived the same dojo he studied in and was bullied in teaching a whole new generation of kids to pick on other kids. Well Danny started his own dojo to teach karate the way he learned it as a defense and self-discipline. So these two are still going at it.  
The thing is I met Johnny and he's okay I mean kind of messed up but alright. They are actually more alike than they are different not to mention Johnny's aggressive style with Danny's self-discipline would make their students unstoppable, but they don't see it that way.  
What I'm getting at is these two dudes have been locked away in this fight for over 30 years and they can't get past it, can't get past when they were 16.”

Rocky nodded. “So youse saying we need to let go of our old anger at the Dragos and move on.” Rocky guessed.  
Adonis looked squarely at his friend. “Ah hell nah, I'm saying their fights are stupid. Neither one of them killed anybody!”  
Adonis looked fierce but nodded at Viktor. His voice softened. “But neither did Viktor. He wasn't even born yet when that happened. He had nothing to do with any of it. I like Viktor but Ivan. Damn, that man’s cold.”

Rocky sighed. “You know sometimes when you're fightin’ youse sometimes forget there's a guy at the other end. In my mind, Ivan Drago was this ten feet tall, unstoppable killing machine like a robot like the one I used to have or somethin’ not a man. But when I saw him that day at Adrian's and then when he tossed that towel down I dunno I didn't see a monster, a machine, or your dad's killer. I just saw you know just the guy at the other end.”  
Adonis nodded at the door. “I'm gonna go in. You want to join me?”  
“Sure,” Rocky said.

Viktor and Bianca laughed as she showed him a Facebook photo of Amara. “Ah milyy,” Viktor said smiling.  
“What does that mean?” Bianca asked.  
“It is something we say to baby,” Viktor said. “It means cute, adorable.” He looked closer. “She looks like both of you.”  
Bianca grinned. She then showed another pic this time Adonis holding Amara's arms up to strike a hero pose. “She’s already a fighter,” Bianca said proudly.  
“You sing I Will GoTo War to her?” Viktor joked.  
Bianca sighed. “ I would but she wouldn't hear it. She was born deaf.”  
“I am sorry”, Viktor said.  
Bianca held up her hand. “It's alright. We have something in common.” She pointed to her ears to show her hearing aids. ,”Everyone lives with hurt. It's how they deal with it that is the real test. It's taken awhile but we're adjusting.”  
“That is good,” Viktor said 

“So you got a honey?” Bianca asked as Viktor returned her phone.  
“Honey?” Viktor asked.  
“Sorry I meant girlfriend or wife,” she said.  
“Oh no, no honey,” Viktor said. “I have no time for socializing. I am always working, training, fighting, and sleeping.”  
“Sounds intense,” Bianca said.  
“I am used to it,” Viktor said.  
“How long has he been training you?” Bianca asked.  
“For 25 years, since I was 7,” Viktor replied.  
Bianca was stunned. “And he pushes you like that?” Viktor nodded. She said. “No offense, but if he were my Dad, I would have told him to fuck off.”  
“Thoughts cross my mind many times,” Viktor said dryly.

“So why did you put up with it for so long?” Bianca asked.  
Viktor shrugged. “My father.” He noticed Rocky and Adonis enter. “Everyone says they know Father. They see in him what they want to see. America sees him as cold killer. Russia sees him as failure. Ukraine sees him just as one of many so many poor people. I don't see none of that.”

“I see man who suffered, whose wife left him, and had no friends or relations so he did all himself. I see man who worked his fingers to their bones 18 sometimes 20 hours a day at two jobs to care for me. I see man who would come home off work in morning exhausted but still want to train. I see man who wears clothes too big because he sometimes goes without food for days but makes sure I eat plenty. I see man who when we slept on streets or in truck, he gave me blanket or his coat while he shivered all night from cold. Never tells me any of that but I know he does.  
I became boxer not just to restore name, or get out of poverty, or make him proud though all of this true. I became boxer because I want him to know all he does is worthwhile. Someday I care for him as good as he cares for me. Everyone sees Ivan Drago. I just see Father.”

Bianca offered a small smile and tapped on her cell phone. “I'm sorry I shouldn't have judged you and your dad.”  
“You are not first,” Viktor said without malice.  
Rocky and Adonis stood by the wall. “Guy at the other end?” Adonis asked. Rocky nodded.  
Adonis grinned in a teasing manner as he approached them.“Hey there making moves on my wife?” He jokingly did the “eye on you” gesture.  
“She all yours, Adonis,” Viktor said holding up his hand in surrender. Bianca and Adonis kissed. 

Mary Ann entered flushed and worried. “Oh good you're all in here,” she said.  
“Hey yo Mary Ann what's wrong?” Rocky asked.  
Mary Ann nodded to Viktor. “I saw your father outside the hospital.”  
“He did not come in?” Viktor asked.  
“No he said he had something to do and gave me these.” She passed the letters around.  
Rocky, Viktor, and Adonis looked at their letters. “They're in Russian,” Adonis said.  
“They would be,” Viktor said. “My father does not write English so good. It was that Soviet School System that said Capitalist America was evil so language was evil. I write English far better than he but speaking is easier for he than me.”  
Mary Ann, Rocky, and Adonis handed the letters over to him. Viktor examined the letters. “They are all same.”  
“What do they say?” Bianca asked.  
Viktor read out loud:

“‘Dear Rocky, Mary Ann, Adonis, and Viktor,  
It is meaningless to apologize. No apologies can fix what broke. But I am truly sorry for murdering Apollo Creed. There is Nobody to blame for my troubles -Nobody but myself.  
I cannot give reasons that make up for loss. Young. Inexperienced. Addicted to steroids. Product of Soviet Union. None justified his death.

Because of me, Mary Ann lost husband, Rocky friend, and Adonis father.  
I am sorry Mary Ann is widow. You missed chance to grow old together. You should have that. You loved each other like Balboas. I envy you.  
I am sorry Adonis has no father. That he can not see what fine upstanding young man you become. He should be here to cheer for you in corner. He is not and I am to blame.  
I am sorry Rocky lost friend and our fight gave brain damage that ended career. I do not know Rocky's life now but at our age is likely that you probably lost much. I am sorry you no longer have friend that should be here with you. I did break you, but I broke me too.

Above all I am sorry to Viktor’-”Viktor's voice caught.  
“You don't gotta read no more,” Rocky said  
“I want to,” Viktor said simply. “‘Above all I am sorry to Viktor. I am sorry I train you to be good boxer not good man. I am sorry I show you to people who never care for us. I am sorry I robbed you of childhood. I am sorry I am not hero Colossus like you want me to be. My only hope is that you are better boxer, better father one day, and better man than I will ever be.

So many things I wish were different. But know I can't return there and change them. Only thing I do is balance them by ending this. Do not worry. When I die, I die. Dasvidaniya. Sincerely yours, Ivan Drago.’” He looked up tears in his eyes as the implications of the letter dawned on him. He didn't care who saw. "Oh Father no." 

Everyone stood or sat in silence. Finally Adonis spoke up. “We gotta stop him.”  
“Donnie this ain't our country,” Rocky reminded him.  
“Look Unk he's clearly suicidal,” Creed said. “I hate Ivan Drago but Viktor’s worried about him. I don't want my revenge like this! Nothing's worth that! We gotta find him!”  
“Naw, Donnie I meant I'm with you,” Rocky said. “But since this ain't our country we don't know where he is.”  
Viktor stood up. “I go with you. I save Father.”  
Adonis asked. “Are you sure? You're worse off than me.”  
“My father,” Viktor insisted. “If he isn't-hadn't yet-who he listen to Rocky Balboa, Adonis Creed, or his son?”

Viktor were both fully dressed by the time Viktor tried to call his father's phone. He received nothing but a dial tone. He swore.  
“Do you have any idea where he might be,” Adonis asked.  
“No I do not know,” Viktor said. “Don't know Russia very well.”  
“How can you not know Russia? Aren't you from here?” Adonis asked.  
“Yes, I was born here. But Father and I traveled through Soviet Union when I was baby. We were ordered to leave Russia before I was three. We only come back once after U.S.S.R. collapsed. My father believed Russian Federation welcome him back but they never would! We found only friends were dead, my mother not want to see us, and boxing finished with him. That was also first time I heard about your father.” 

He nodded to Adonis. “After father's hearing, an awful man, Father's former manager-”  
“-Comrade Big Mouth,” Rocky quipped realizing to whom Viktor was referring.  
“His name was Nikolai Koloff but that is good correct description,” Viktor mused. “He insult Father. I defend him. Koloff told me about Apollo just to break Father. Koloff destroyed him. My mother stole his money and left him for other man and destroyed him. Russia destroyed him and he never sees that.”

“All kinds of excuses they say why they no longer want him to fight: the steroids, your father's death, fought in unsanctioned fights, wasn't fully Russian but half-Russian and half-Ukrainian, eventually telling him too old but none were real reason. Any one of those they could forgive!  
No real reason was he lost and they throw him away! They never cared about him and he never sees! All his fault he says! Believes he deserves divorce, betrayal, getting kicked out of country but he doesn't!  
I never understood that! I never understood why he is so desperate to get approval when they shame him! Why he think he is no good for them when was they who were no good for him! No, I do not know where in this fucking country he is!” He kicked a trash can in rage.  
Rocky patted the younger man on the shoulder. “Sometimes it's really hard to live wit’ defeat. Sounds like your dad took it all out on himself.” Viktor nodded.

Rocky turned to Mary Ann. “Did he say anythin’ to you?”  
Mary Ann shrugged. “Not much. I thanked him and asked if he wanted to come in. He refused then gave me the letters. He also said the words “mertvykh” and “prizraki.”  
“What do they mean?” Adonis asked Viktor.  
“Mertvykh means dead and prizraki means ghosts,” Viktor explained.  
“Could he be at a cemetery?” Bianca said.  
“Is there a Drago family plot somewhere where parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles other relatives are buried?” Adonis suggested.  
“No nothing like that,” Viktor said. “Father had no family. Grandmother died when Father was 7 and Grandfather died when he was 9. Both were burned. He didn't like my grandfather so would not visit if plot existed.”

“Is there like I don't know a haunted place or somethin?’” Rocky asked.  
“This Russia, Rocky,” Viktor smirked. “Every place haunted.”  
“I mean did youse go to some joint that had ghosts?” Rocky asked.  
“Nothing like that. Father and I not believe in those things. Only one place I ever think was haunted.” Suddenly Viktor turned ashen as a thought occurred to him. “I know where he is!”  
Rocky waved everyone forward. “Alright let's get goin’!”

“Shouldn't someone be here in case he comes back,” Bianca asked. “Maybe call around to see where he is if Viktor's guess isn't right?”  
Mary Ann took her hand. “We’ll do it.”  
“Uh, we don't speak Russian, “ Bianca reminded her mother-in-law. “That could be a problem.”  
“I have idea,” Viktor said.  
Viktor waved them forward to follow him to the waiting room. “Anyone speak English?”. He asked the staff.  
A brunette woman’s hand went up. “I do,” she said leaving the nursing station “I studied medicine in New York.”  
She moved towards the family. “You there what's your name?” Viktor asked.  
“Raissa,” she answered.  
Viktor motioned to Bianca and Mary Ann. “Raissa these are friends and we need assistance.”  
Mary Ann “Yes we are concerned about a ….friend of ours who might be in trouble and we need you to help make some calls for us.”  
“I'll do what I can. It is best we go inside my office,” Raissa said. “Tell me who you think we should call.”  
“Shouldn’t we call the police or a mental health provider?” Bianca suggested.  
“No,” Viktor almost shouted. His voice became softer. “No police. No mental hospitals. As your friend, Bianca, I beg you. I don't have time to explain but Raissa could.” Raissa nodded. 

They wished each other luck.  
“I try to reach Father,” Viktor said to Bianca. “If I don't you try to call him.” Bianca nodded as he gave her Ivan’s cell number before he left.  
“Any message you want me to give him?” Rocky asked Mary Ann.  
Mary Ann nodded. “Tell him, I forgive him like I forgive you.” Rocky smiled as he followed the younger guys to the door.  
Raissa held up her phone. “So who do we contact first?”

Viktor and Adonis strode down the hallway and approached the door when Dr. Rumanov nervously ran in front to block the boxer's paths. “Where do you think you're going?”  
“We're checking out,” Adonis said.  
“Your release must be approved by attending physician,” Rumanov declared.  
“So approve of it,” Viktor said.  
‘I cannot without full investigation, that could take few days.”  
“We don't wait that long! We are leaving now,” Viktor said  
“Go back to your rooms,” the doctor demanded.

“Damn,” Adonis said. He moved like he was going to walk away. “He got us but good.” He turned back to the doctor.  
“Doc, I have a medical question for you. What's black and white and can kick the shit out of you?”  
The doctor shook his head as both Adonis and Viktor grabbed him by the lapels.  
“Us,” Adonis commanded. “ Now, sign us out.” They gave their most intimidating stares to the doctor.  
Rumanov let the two men sign with a flourish. “Alright but don't be crying to me when spleens rupture.”  
“We won't,” Adonis and Viktor said.

The two young boxers smiled and fist bumped. “Hey that was fun. I felt like we were a team, you know like Captain America and the Winter Soldier or Iron Man and War Machine,” Adonis said.  
“Or Kay and Jay the MIB or Murtagh and Riggs from Lethal Weapon,” Viktor agreed. Adonis nodded.  
“Now let's go get your dad,” Adonis said. Viktor nodded in agreement.  
Rocky rolled his eyes at the duo's developing friendship. “I'm gettin’ too old for this shit. So where to Viktor?”  
“Fallen Monuments Park,” Viktor said.

Raissa talked on the phone as Bianca sat across from her and Mary Ann faced the window. She called another nearby tavern. “Spasibo,” she thanked the bartender. “Not there either. Anyone else?”  
Bianca shook her head. She tried calling the number Viktor gave her but there was no answer. “I don't know. Maybe we should call the police or an ambulance and arrange an intervention or something to have him committed.”  
“You wish for this to happen for your friend's father?” Raissa asked.  
Bianca shook her head. “No but if he's a danger to himself or to others shouldn't he be in a hospital?”  
“Your friend's father should be cared for true but not in places like that,” Raissa said. When she lowered her voice, Bianca could tell that this was going to be a private conversation not to be shared by anyone out of this office. “Your friend has good reason not to have his father put in state mental hospital. You are American, da? In your country mentally ill are cared for and medicated. They talk to psychiatrist and get help and support from loved ones, da?”  
Bianca nodded. “Da I mean yes.”

Raissa waved her hand around the room. “It is not like that here. Many believe that mental illness is sign of weakness something that brings shame. Your friend's father would be taken to hospital that is little better than prison. Your friend would not be permitted to see him which leaves his father isolated from loved ones. He would be subjected to whatever treatments they give him such as shocks or experiments. Hospitals are understaffed and use unsanitized equipment. He would not be cared for, instead he is ignored by staff, and left in his own hunger and filth. Your friend will not be permitted to contact his father. Because of that they are under no obligation to tell him what they do. When he dies from treatment they won't tell. Instead they burn the body and tell him that his father ran away or committed suicide. These hospitals are not to treat people. They are places that they put people to forget about them, people that need help the most.”  
Bianca put her hand on her mouth. “My God.”  
Raissa shrugged. “It is getting better slightly. Authorities are studying state hospitals. A recent documentary got much needed attention. There are compassionate private care facilities but many are expensive. There are also outpatient counseling services here and in other former Soviet countries. They are helpful especially to former soldiers in Ukraine. You said your friend and his father live in Kiev. They may wish to try them upon return. But still state hospitals need work and this country has long way to go.”  
“I really don't understand much about this country,” Bianca said.  
Raissa smiled. “You are like everyone else. You never know a place until you step inside of it. I never understood what America was like until I moved there .” Bianca nodded. She tried calling Ivan's number but there was no response.  
“I will try calling somewhere else,” Raissa offered.

Bianca walked towards Mary Ann and hugged her. “It's strange,” Mary Ann said. “It's three days after the fight that almost killed my son and instead of thinking about him, I am worried about the man who killed my husband.”  
Bianca didn't say anything just gave her mother-in-law wordless support as Mary Ann continued. “There was a time when every time I thought of Ivan Drago, I seethed with hatred. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands but not before I shook him and said 'You did this! My children have no father because of you! I have no husband because of you!’ I wanted him to know what it felt like to lose someone he loved. I wanted to curse him with all of the pain and suffering that I went through. Now that it's happened, I don't want to anymore.

At that fight I ached every time Adonis went down but also every time Viktor went down. I kept fighting inside myself saying that this is what I wanted, but I realized that it wasn't. Then Ivan wasn't a murderer a remorseless killer. He was like me. He was just a parent worried about his baby. Now hearing that letter and what Raissa says, he doesn't deserve that. No one does.” Bianca gave Mary Ann another wordless hug and helped her sit down.

Ivan rested on a bench at Fallen Monuments Park as evening began. His phone vibrated again. He glanced at the number: Viktor's. If it wasn't Viktor's it was an American number. Either way Ivan didn't answer. Instead he turned off the phone.  
He faced the statue of Vladimir Lenin. He supposed that it was fitting that his life would end here. In a place where history was tucked away only to be remembered as a cautionary tale. 

Ivan opened a bottle of vodka hoping to deaden his nerves. He never understood why his father was so weak to drink away his disappointments especially after his wife's death. Now he knew. It wasn't weakness, it was exhaustion. The feeling that you had when the fire burnt out and you couldn't fight anymore. It just became easier to crawl inside a bottle rather than confront those demons. Perhaps his father wanted to die and drinking was his way of poisoning himself rather than live with regrets. Maybe his mother did to. That's why she never defended herself or Ivan. Maybe she lost the will to fight and accepted her eventual death.

Ivan took another drink with the gun in his hand. It felt so sleek and heavy. He lifted it, placed the bullets inside one by one and stared at the barrel. Why was he so afraid to do this? He had nothing and no one that cared except Viktor. Viktor. His son would be distraught but in the end he would be better off living without a father that pushed him and forced him to make up for his mistakes.  
Ivan shook his head. He should feel something despair or guilt for leaving his son another blame that could be laid at his feet. But instead he felt nothing. Nothing but numbness and cold like he was staring into a dark void and couldn't see the bottom. He wished that he could just be frozen solid trapped in this abyss and never come out. My wish will come true soon enough, Ivan thought.

Rocky, Adonis, and Viktor stepped out of the cab in front of the Park. Adonis looked around at the monuments. “You weren't kidding when you said this place is haunted. It is creepy.”  
“It is where they put all old Soviet statues,” Viktor said as they walked through.  
“I wondered what they did wit’ all this stuff,” Rocky said. He pointed at a statue of Dzerzhinsky. “I think I remember him last time I was here.”  
“I hate this place,” Viktor said. “Always hated it. No good living in past, I think. Too many ghosts in our life as it is.” Viktor looked around. “Lot bigger than I remembered.”

“Well let's get a move on and look,” Rocky said. He cupped his hands to his mouth and called. “DRAGO!!” The only answer was his own echo.  
Adonis and Viktor picked up the call. Adonis yelled. “Yo Drago!” Viktor yelled. “Father! Otets!” Still no response.  
Rocky moved the younger men forward as they called again but received no response. “So what are youse two waitin’ for? Lead on Magellan.” Viktor nodded and led the two Americans through the park.

Ivan thought he heard his name called. He turned around but did not answer back. Instead he swallowed another drink and reopened the holster. Must leave no trace, he thought to himself. He poured the remainder of vodka onto the ground. Then he tossed it into the air and fired the gun sending the bottle to shatter to the ground below.

The shot made Rocky, Adonis, and Viktor jump in surprise. “No,” Viktor gasped.  
Adonis pointed ahead. “It came from over there!” The trio ran to the direction of the shot.

Ivan sighed and pointed the gun to his right temple. It was now or never. He thought of his son. “Dasvidaniya, Viktor. Ya lyublyu tebya.” I love you. He cocked the gun.

Adonis looked ahead. Near a statue of Vladimir Lenin, he could see a large figure sitting on a bench with his back turned. “That's him! I see him!” They ran to the direction where he pointed.  
“Father don't,” Viktor said seeing the gun in his father's hand. Ivan uncocked the gun.  
Ivan aimed the gun first at the other three. “Stay back,” he snarled. “I do this!” He paused for a second and winced in pain. Then he pointed the gun at his own temple. 

Rocky approached his former rival. “Come on, Drago put down the gun,” he said. Rocky walked to the bench. Drago sprang up as though the American boxer bit him but kept his hand on the gun and the gun near his temple.  
“Father please don't do this,” Viktor begged.  
“This ain't the way,” Rocky said continuing to hold his hand out. “Now give me the gun.”  
“It's the only way,” Drago said quietly. “It is the only way to end all this!”  
“No it's not,” Rocky said. “It won't end nothin.’.”  
“Nothing. Nichego,” Ivan said. “It is so cold. The world has been cold since Creed died.”  
“I know,” Rocky said. “Believe me I know but shootin’ yourself ain't the answer. It won't bring Apollo back. All it will do is bring more pain and hurt!”  
Ivan closed his eyes and spoke softly resigned to his fate. “I have been in pain for 33 years. It never stops hurting. I just want to be over. I did not intend for your friend to die.”  
“I know you didn’,” Rocky said.  
Ivan looked squarely at Rocky. For a brief moment, Rocky thought of the time after Apollo died when they stared at each other with equal parts malice and hatred. Now here they were 33 years later staring at each other again and this time Rocky had to save Drago's life.

“It does not matter my intention,” Ivan said. “He still died. Dead is dead whether I mean to or not. I tried blocking from my mind tried forgetting. Fighting, working, raising my son. Turning my son into fighter. Anything to distract me, to forget but he's still there. Nothing helps. You miss him? Still feel his presence? You wish he were here?” Rocky's long face was his answer. Ivan spoke like someone going through immense torture. “I can't stop thinking of him! I see his body, hear his voice! His ghost haunts me. Tells me I'm nothing but cold killer! I get no sleep because I hear him say I deserve death. He is right!”

“No no he ain't right,” Rocky said. “And that's not Apollo! He wouldn't say somethin’ like that! Hell, the guy refused to go to ‘Nam because he didn't want to kill nobody! He said that 'No Southeast Asian ever called him uh-” He looked over at Adonis-”-well never mind what he said! My point is he didn't want to go over there and kill people! He said 'With boxing there are rules. You fight, you touch gloves, you pick up the prize, you go home! Sure you're a warrior sure you have the eye of the tiger but afterwards you two have a drink together! War ain't like that. All you do is kill them.’”

Ivan wouldn't listen.“I still hear him even now telling me what terrible person I am that my son is better without me,”  
“Father no,” Viktor said.  
Ivan shook his head and turned back to Rocky.. “He says wonderful things about you. He says Balboa is good man, good fighter, wonderful father whose wife and son love him. How can I compete with the Hero Rocky Balboa?”  
“Wait what?” Rocky asked. “Apollo didn't say that. He almost never called me Balboa. He always called me Rocky or Stallion. Drago, don't you get it? Apollo ain't hauntin’ you. The only one who's hauntin’ you is you! It's your own guilt, your own thoughts, that's eatin’ you up inside and it's soundin’ like Apollo! I know what that feels like!”  
“How can you possibly know? How it feels to be alone? You have friends family are loved. I have nothing except son I don't deserve!” Viktor shook his head. Ivan said. “Your friend died! But you did not kill him!”

Rocky lowered his head. “Yes I did. I was supposed to throw the towel down and I didn't. I keep tellin’ myself that Apollo didn’ want me to, made me promise not to stop the fight. I say that was the way Apollo wanted to go that if it hadn't been then and you, it would have been some other young punk and he'd be dancin’ to some other James Brown song. But youse right, it don't take away that he's dead. The other night, with their fight you did what I couldn't. You threw that towel down for someone you care about!”

“And yeah I know what it's like to be alone and you know what I ain't no better than you. My best friends, wife, my brother-in-law are all dead. I know how it feels to want to die! I boxed a kid half my age because I thought of goin’ out like Apollo in some blaze of glory. I have non-Hodgkin's lymphoma and didn’ want no treatment at first so I could be with Adrian.”

“ I've been tryin’ to die so much that my relationship with my son is a mess. He's in Vancouver and we have nothin’ to say to each other! We don't talk! Your kid is right here and I can tell he's nuts about you! So no Drago I ain't a better man, not a hero. I'm like you: just a man.”

Ivan's hand shook but he didn't remove the gun. “Come on Drago let go don't be a fool,” Adonis said. He tried to approach the older man but Ivan cocked the gun in warning. Adonis stepped back.  
“You must long to see this Adonis, man who killed your father dead by his hand,” he said determined. “It is justice! You and your mother would be very happy! You want this?”  
“No I don't want this and neither does my Mom,” Adonis said. “In fact she said that she forgives you.”  
“And you? You forgive me?” Ivan asked.  
“I guess I do,” Rocky said. “Otherwise I can't forgive myself.”  
Adonis stood in silence. “Donnie?” Rocky prompted.  
“I-” Adonis began.  
“Creed?” Ivan asked. Adonis at first refused to speak. “You do not forgive me then say it!” Adonis hesitated so Ivan said again. "Say it!" When Adonis wouldn't respond the Russian yelled. “SAY IT, BABY CREED!!”

“ALRIGHT!” Adonis shouted. “You want me to say it? You want me to say I hate you? Alright, I hate you! Because of you I never met my father and I will never know him! You cheated me out of never knowing him! When I found out how my father died, I wanted to find some way to get to Russia and murder you and your entire family!” Viktor looked wide eyed. “Sorry man, no offense. I wanted to give you every blow you ever gave my Pops and find some way to make it hurt worse! Every time I step into the ring, every time I fight some opponent, I hurt just a little because my father isn't there to see it. You caused that and even now I would love to take that gun and blow your fucking brains all over this goddamned park!” Ivan's hand on the gun loosened as if inviting Adonis to take him up on the offer. “But I won't do it.”

Adonis's voice softened. “See all that time I was picturing you and your family, you weren't real to me. You were just some abstract, an idea I had. Some evil enemy that needed to be destroyed like the Boss at the end of a game. I wonder if maybe that was what my Dad was like to you. It's easy to kill someone or want to kill someone when they aren't human to you, some invisible enemy that you are either taught to hate or set up in your mind as some monster.. Once you know who they are, it's a hell of a lot harder.

Adonis looked over to Viktor. “Now I know that I can't take someone else's dad from them. I will never know my father, I have to accept it. I have to live with it. But I can't wish that pain on anyone else especially someone whose dad is all they have. All it will do is hurt Viktor and if you're as half as good a Dad as Viktor thinks you are, then you won't want to either.”

Ivan's hand shook further and the gun lowered to his neck. Viktor approached him as though his father were a wounded animal. Viktor started when he saw something he never saw before: tears in his father's eyes. “Papa, please.” Viktor said. He put his hands on his father's covering the gun.  
Ivan sighed. The emotions wearied him as though he were finally aware of the weight he had been carrying for 57 years of concealing emotions, of keeping a stony exterior from the outside world.  
“You deserve better. You deserve better than I can give. A father not trainer who gets you hurt. A strong man who puts you through hardship not failed weakling who wants to end his life. The life we saw with your mother. The life I want for you.”

“Papa,” Viktor said. “I have better. I have you. You are strong, always have been. You never abandon me though she did. You are mother and father to me. You remind me everything's okay as long as we are together.  
You can be hard and sometimes you push too far but I know it's all for me. When I despair and want to give up, you remind me keep going, keep running, keep fighting because you do. Yes, sometimes I get hurt but it is my choice to do it not yours. You gave me determination and I decide what to do with it.  
To me, you have always been real champion no matter what is said by others. Papa, we’ll get that someday: belt, fame, championship, and if we never do so what? None of this means nothing to me if you aren't there to fight with me.”

Ivan winced trying to stop the tears but they came down. “I can't fight anymore. I am so tired, so weak and tired.”  
“Papa you are not weak because you feel,” Viktor said. “You are not made of stone, you are human. You try to be strong, letting me cry to you. Now you cry to me. You took care of me. I care for you now. We care for each other and we fight together. Together we fight and together we win, and together we find our victory.”

Viktor helped Ivan lower the gun and let go. Viktor handed the gun to Rocky. Ivan practically collapsed into his son’s arms as they embraced. For the first time in his entire life, Viktor found himself comforting his father. Ivan sobbed in his son's arms. “It's okay Papa, it's okay,” he said. “I'm so proud of you too.”  
Ivan turned away. “You remember that?”  
“Of course I do,” Viktor said.  
“I never told you before that-” Ivan began but Viktor interrupted.  
“You never had to,” Viktor said.  
Ivan whispered in his son's ear. “You have always been my victory, my Vitya.”  
“And you mine, Papa,” Viktor returned. Viktor held his father’s hand as they, Adonis, and Rocky left Fallen Monuments behind.

Yes Ivan Drago did cry in his son's arms. He cried for the regrets that he still had, the losses that he still felt but the second chance that he had been given.

Author’s Note  
1\. I would like to take a moment to thank the songs “45” by Shinedown, “My Own Prison” by Creed, and “Gone Away” by Offspring and Five Finger Death Punch (particularly the Five Finger Death Punch video. Seriously watch it but bring tissues) for changing the tone of this chapter.  
Originally it was going to be quieter where Mary Ann and then Rocky come to Ivan's room and he apologizes for Apollo's death. While that was okay it was way too similar to some of my other fics like Unhappy In It's Own Way and My Father Sammy Glick where former enemies bury the hatchet over the bedside of one's sick or injured child.  
Listening to those three songs repeatedly and comparing them to my story gave me the idea instead to make it more intense and have Adonis, Rocky, Bianca, and Mary Anne rally around Viktor and a suicidal Ivan with Viktor, Rocky, and Adonis talking Ivan out of killing himself. I even paid tribute to those three songs with lines where Ivan believes his “own prison is to watch his son die”, when he has the gun and Ivan literally “stares down the barrel of a 45” (whereas the song is actually a metaphor about the world and moving on), and he tells Rocky, Adonis, and Viktor that “the world has grown cold since Creed's death” and Rocky says he knows.  
2\. Actually there is a deleted scene in Creed II where Ivan apologizes to Adonis and Rocky about Apollo's death that is set after the rematch. Unfortunately we will have to wait for the Blu-ray to experience it but I know one of the lines is that Ivan says to Rocky “I did not intend for your friend to die” so I put it in my version.  
3\. Ivan finding Little Marie attractive refers to a potential fanfic idea in which Ivan and Viktor visit the gang in Philadelphia and their friends set them up with a couple of American girls. Viktor gets set up with Bianca's friend, an MMA fighter named Tasha Lang (“Her dad used to be a boxer back in the day but he wound up in prison and found Jesus. Now he's a commentator and religious speaker.” Guess who?)  
Ivan and Little Marie also start talking and agree to go out on a date. (I couldn't resist the fiendish delight imagining the girl who was like a kid sister to Rocky going out with his former rival.)  
4\. Adonis refers to he and Viktor having a conversation before the big fight where Viktor says he doesn’t hate Adonis. That was a deleted scene from the movie.  
5\. Viktor talking about his father wearing clothes that are larger is a reference to Dolph Lundgren. When he returned to the role of Drago, he visualized him as being old and worn out. So they gave him bad teeth and larger clothes so it looked like he hadn't been taking care of himself and lost a lot of weight in the intervening years.  
5\. Yes another Cobra Kai reference. I know I know in Cobra Kai they refer to Rocky as a movie but keep in mind Rocky itself implies the movies exist in their universe. In III and V marching bands play Gonna Fly Now and in V, one of Bobby’s bullies refers to him as Stallone (of course since he was played by Sage Stallone that might have been a flub)..So.the Rocky movies might exist within the franchise itself but as true stories, biopics rather than works of fiction. If properly motivated I might expand on this link between Creed II/Cobra Kai by having Rocky and Daniel talk and Ivan and Johnny meet as well. I already have an idea where Daniel meets Rocky and gets all fanboy/geek out on him (“Rocky Balboa! You’re the guy that every East Coast Italian-American kid wanted to be like, well you or Michael Corleone!”) and Johnny expresses admiration for Ivan Drago (“I was a big fan of yours well as big a fan as any American kid in the ‘Reagan-Era-Commie-Hating-Nuke-’Em-All-And-Send-Them-To-The-Stone-Age’ ‘80’s could be.”  
6\. Raissa 's descriptions on public mental health care in Russia come from multiple sources.  
7\. As many know the story about Apollo refusing to serve in Vietnam is based on his real life counterpart Mohammad Ali  
8\. I know this was six chapters but I have a 7th in mind with more closure involving the Dragos, Adonis, Rocky, Mary Ann, and Bianca. It will be called “Tovarich.”


	7. Tovarich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Ivan's suicide attempt, Viktor bonds with Adonis and Bianca and Ivan and Rocky's Cold War begins to thaw.

The Unmistakable Fire  
A Rocky IV/Creed II Fanfic  
By Auburn Red  
VII Tovarich

Viktor Drago knocked on the hotel door and waited patiently as Rocky opened the door. “Hey Kid, the others are inside.” He led Viktor to the suite where he greeted Adonis and Bianca while Rocky sat nearby in the kitchen area. “Hey Viktor.” Hi, Vik.” They greeted at the same time. “How's your dad?” Bianca asked.  
Viktor nodded. “He is, he's alright as can be expected. Hasn't eaten in two days, but he sleeps mostly. It is good that he does. He is tired so very tired. In Kiev he does not sleep enough. Hope he wakes up soon though, we will check out tomorrow.”  
“Yeah we do too,” Rocky said. 

“Big thank you for making me go last night,” Viktor said to his new friends.  
“Hey you needed it,” Bianca said.  
“I think we all needed a breather,” Adonis agreed. The previous night, Adonis and Bianca insisted on inviting Viktor with them as they went out drinking and clubbing. At first Viktor refused feeling that it was his duty to watch over his father. But his new American friends persisted telling him that he needed a break for one night. Rocky even offered to look in on Ivan for him. The three had a great time dancing, laughing, singing, sharing childhood memories, and lots of drinking.  
Viktor never knew what it was like to just have a good time with friends his own age. As a bartender, he saw many young people hanging out together and having a good time. He envied them but always knew that he had other things that he needed to do. His two jobs, his father's training and his own introverted nature and suspicions of others got in the way. It was interesting how effortlessly Adonis and Bianca accepted him into their circle and how he actually enjoyed being included. 

“Father gave you no trouble did he?”  
Viktor asked Rocky.  
Rocky shrugged. “Not really, I mean he woke up once and didn't seem too thrilled that I was there. Uh, what does 'Trakhni Tebya’ mean?”  
Viktor nodded sheepishly. “Exactly what you think it does.”  
“Yeah thought so,” Rocky said dryly. “The pronunciation is you know practically universal. I answered with a 'Vaffanculo.’”  
“Same thing,” Viktor realized. “I seen Godfather. He did not fight you after?”  
“Nah, I told him you told me to look in on him. He wasn' happy about it none.  
But you know he fell right back to sleep and slept the rest of the night. Youse want me to keep that bag here?” He whispered. 

“For now, please,” Viktor replied. The first thing they did upon returning to.the hotel after rescuing Ivan was return the gun to Dimitri. At first he refused to refund the money but the obvious threatening looks from two young boxers made him return it with interest.  
Before he left with Adonis and Bianca, Viktor gave Rocky a small bag of razors, knives, pills, and other potentially lethal objects. “I keep them locked away from him, but I worry if I go out. Keep in your room please.”  
Rocky nodded. “Worried he'll try it again?” Viktor nodded but didn't say anything feeling ashamed. Rocky patted the Ukrainian boxer on the shoulder. “Hey no problem, after Adrian died I had to do the same thing.”  
“Lock means of suicide away from family member?” Viktor asked.  
“Lock means of suicide away from me,” Rocky said. Viktor put his hand on the American's shoulder in sympathy.

“Hey Viktor come over here,” Adonis invited. “Bianca and I want to teach you something.”  
“Alright,” Viktor said as he sat across from them at the table. He taught them a few Russian phrases the night before which they jokingly mangled but were able to catch on. 

“We are gonna talk to our daughter soon on Skype” Adonis began.  
“Oh I can leave,” Viktor said. He was about to stand when Bianca gently nudged him back down.  
Adonis continued. “And we were wondering if you wanted to talk to her also.”  
Viktor looked at the married couple. “Really?” He missed the conspiratorial grin between husband and wife like they shared a surprise.  
“Yeah I mean you're our friend,” Adonis said.  
“Alright,” Viktor said. “I know no sign language, does that matter?”  
“Well at this age technically no,” Bianca said. “But it will help her get used to it when she starts learning it. So we want to teach you a couple of phrases.”

He followed his friends as they showed him how to sign “Hi Amara” and “I'm Viktor” with his fingers.  
Rocky let Mary Ann in the hotel room as they were talking. She offered them Turkish coffee and vatrushka which she bought at a nearby bakery. They accepted the treats with thanks. There was a sixth for Ivan in case he woke up that lay unattended.  
“They're teachin’ sign language,” Rocky said as the trio returned to their lessons. Mary Ann nodded. 

“How's he?” Mary Ann asked nodding in the direction of Ivan's hotel room.  
“Sleepin’ all the time,” Rocky said. “Viktor said he hadn't eaten for a couple of days now.”  
“He's going to need some kind of professional help when he goes back to Kiev,” she observed.  
“Yeah but he ain't never gonna admit it,” Rocky said.

“Now we all have gestures to go with our names,” Bianca explained. “It's sort of like shorthand.” She held her closed hand to her mouth like a microphone. “This is mine.”  
Adonis then showed his fists. “This is mine.” He crossed his hands over his heart. “This is Mom's.” He motioned to Mary Ann who nodded. He then held his fists high in the air. “This is Rocky. I have no idea where we came up with that one.”  
Bianca nodded in mock innocence. “It just came to us.”  
“I have some idea,” Viktor said. “Father and I visit Art Museum.”  
“Hey,” Rocky teased. “What were you doin’ there?”  
“Stealing-what is phrase-thunder,” Viktor teased back.

“If you're going to be our friend we got to think of one for you,” Bianca said. “We got too many boxers though so no fists.”  
“Well you know her Daddy's the best why bother with the rest,” Adonis said flexing his muscles.  
“Our previous match said otherwise,” Viktor mocked.  
“Yeah well I got this last one,” Adonis said.  
“Only because Father threw in towel,” Viktor countered.  
“Yeah but I was the reason your Dad threw in the towel,” Adonis said back.

“Shouldn't we stop them?” Mary Ann said.  
Rocky held up his hand. “Ah no no no. Theyse friends now. It's like they are sparring. All boxers who were former rivals and later friends go through it. Now that the match is over, they can joke about it. It was like that wit’ me and Apollo.”

Adonis and Viktor continued their verbal sparring until Bianca spoke. “Do I have to separate you boys?” She couldn't contain her laughter. The guys laughed right along with her as Adonis held her closer. “So what do you think would be a good sign for you, Viktor?” Bianca said.  
“ I don't know?” Viktor said. “ Father says I am his victory, so maybe.” He held up two Vs. “For Victory.”  
“Ah the Nixon,” Rocky joked.  
“Is that alright?” Viktor asked.  
“I like it,” Bianca said.  
“That will work,” Adonis said. “Untrue but it will work.”  
“You just wait until rematch when.” He held up the two Vs. “Defeats.” He held up his fists.  
“Oh yeah?” Adonis signed.  
“Great,” Bianca rolled her eyes. “Instead of Trash Talk these guys will be doing Trash Sign.” She looked at her phone. “Oh it's time!”

She reached over to her laptop and turned on the Wifi. An older woman waved at them on Skype then picked up a small infant. Both her parents gushed. They spoke and signed.“Hi Amara!” “Hi Beautiful, you being good?”  
Amara giggled at her parents. Viktor could see the two hearing aids on her ears. Viktor couldn't help but think that she not only looked like her parents but her grandfather as well. 

They signed and spoke having a typical conversation with their baby girl.  
“Yeah we’re all here,” Adonis said. He gave the gestures as he spoke. “Mama, Daddy, Granny, Rocky and-” He and Bianca exchanged a knowing smile as Adonis held a “U” sign to the side of his head and twisted it twice before he did the V gesture.  
Viktor was confused. “What did that mean?” He asked.  
Bianca grinned. “Uncle Viktor.”

Viktor's mouth dropped open in surprise. “Really that is why you want me to talk with her?”  
Adonis smiled. “Yeah we were talking about it and only if it's okay with you. We don't have too many siblings and the ones we do have don't keep in touch especially my half brother and sister. So you can be like our honorary brother. Or rather like my honorary brother and Bianca's honorary brother in law.”  
Viktor smiled. “I don't have friends and I would like that very much.”  
Bianca waved him forward. “You want to say hi to your niece?”  
“Oh I do not know,” Viktor said. “Suppose I start talking to her. She won't understand.”  
“It's alright,” Adonis said. “Just say what you feel.”

Viktor sat closer to the laptop camera so the baby could see him. He waved and signed. “Hi Amara, I'm Viktor.” He looked at the little one and spoke. “You do not understand but I am friend of your mother and father. Your Dyadya. I am not related well you can tell by looking at me, no? I had honorary uncle and aunt when I was baby like you. They were friends, my father's best friends, but they were also family to me and my father. Our only friends, our only family. Well until now anyway. They died when I was small and I still miss them. Papa does too though he would never say. If you allow me, I will be as good uncle to you and as good brother to your father and mother as my Dyadya Sasha and Tatiya Ayzere were to me and my father. That is promise.”  
Though she didn't understand, Amara's smile melted Viktor. “Does she like me?”  
“Yes she does,” Bianca said.

Rocky smiled at the sweet scene in front of him. It was nice that they were all together and their wounds healed. If only all wounds could heal this quickly. He thought sadly of his own unfinished business that lay in Vancouver, the unfinished business that he wasn't sure he knew how to resolve. A knock filled the room. Rocky and Mary Ann exchanged a confused look as Rocky opened the door.  
Ivan Drago stood on the outside looking like he would rather be anywhere else. He swayed back a little which Rocky attributed to the constant sleeping and lack of food that he had for the past couple of days.  
“Is my son with you?” He asked sounding nervous.  
“Yeah he's inside with the other kids,” Rocky said.  
From the hallway, Ivan could hear Viktor say “See she is already speaking Russian. She signed 'da!’”  
“Uh no,” Adonis corrected. “She is signing 'Da Da’ you know as in 'Daddy wiped the fwoor wif that big scawy Wukwainian man.”  
“No she is signing 'da’ like “Yes Uncle is much better boxer than Father!’”  
“I don't think she was really aware of what was going on guys,” Bianca interjected. “For all you two know she could be starting to sign 'antidisestablishmentarianism.’”  
“She does that I'm booking her on Steve Harvey! Forget boxing!” Adonis quipped. The others laughed.

Ivan's eyes widened in surprise at the sound of a deep laugh he never heard before at least not since the recipient grew into a man . “Is that Viktor?” He asked surprised.  
“Yeah,” Rocky asked. “Who else you think he was?”  
Ivan shook his head. “No it is that I have not heard him laugh since- I don't even remember last time I heard him laugh.”

Rocky waved him forward. “You wanna come in or somethin’?”  
“Oh no I could not,” Ivan said. He was about to turn away when Rocky held him by the shoulder.  
“Come on go ahead,” he said. “I forgive you for telling me to go fuck myself okay.” Ivan hesitated but followed the American into the hotel room.

Viktor broke into a smile as he walked up to his father. “Are you alright?” He asked concerned.  
“Yes I just wondered where you were and Balboa invited me inside,” Ivan said.  
Viktor squeezed his father by the shoulders. “Really Viktor I am fine,” Ivan said determined.  
Viktor awkwardly sat down next to his friends occasionally giving worried glances at his father. Adonis also looked serious and stone faced at the older Russian as though he wanted to say something but thought that it was inappropriate.

“Would you like some coffee, Mr. Drago?” Mary Ann asked.  
“Oh no thank you-” He began.  
Mary Ann held up one hand interrupting. “Let me rephrase that. Viktor said that you haven't eaten in two days. You. Coffee. Food. Now!” She pointed at the kitchen table.  
Ivan stepped back faking intimidation. “Well you put like that.” He sat across from Rocky and Mary Ann as he sipped the coffee and ate the vatrushka. 

Ivan thought of when he first recognized friendship in Sasha and Ayzere. It was the same situation: he had been offered food. He refused but the woman serving it wouldn't take no for an answer so concerned about his health.  
Ivan was no longer sure what he believed but he wondered if somehow Sasha and Ayzere's spirits made their way into this Philadelphian former boxer and Californian socialite reminding him that he was not alone. It was strange to think about. They would certainly make the oddest of spirits, Ivan thought. Ayzere would wrestle any other ghosts and Sasha would talk the ear off of any exorcist or paranormal investigator who was listening. Ivan's face broke into a smile and a laugh emerged from his throat which he tried to stifle back. 

Rocky and Mary Ann stepped back in surprise. “What was that?” He turned to Mary Ann. “You heard that right?”  
“I did,” Mary Ann agreed. “I didn't think that he could do it.”  
“Is that one of the signs of the Apocalypse like a plague of locusts, or a reality show guy becomin’ President? A laughing Russian?”  
Ivan smirked. “If you must know in Russia, we do smile and laugh just not in front of strangers.”  
“Ohh,” Mary Ann said touched by the implication of Ivan's words.  
“Huh?” Rocky asked. Mary Ann slightly elbowed him in the ribs. Then he caught on. “Oh I got it now. We're not strangers no more.”  
“You are one of smartest American boxers. I can tell,” Ivan said dryly.  
Rocky shrugged. “I dunno smart enough to outfight you. Smart enough to marry the right woman.”  
Ivan sighed. “You were that.” He agreed.

“So what was the joke earlier?” Rocky asked.  
“It's just now you both reminded me of friends of mine,” Ivan said. He suspected that they were surprised. “Yes I have friends! Not many, only two in fact both dead.”  
Rocky nodded to Viktor. “Yeah he was sayin’ something about them like they was like his aunt and uncle?”  
Ivan nodded. He gave them a brief sketch of Sasha and Ayzere and what they meant to the father and son and how they died. “I was laughing because I imagined their presence and how they would make very strange guardians. I don't suppose anyone would have stranger.”  
Rocky laughed. “Hey who am I to judge?  
One of my guardian angels once told me 'Get up you son of a bitch 'Cause Mickey loves ya!’”  
“Sounds like something they would say,” Ivan said.

“Hey Grandma,” Adonis said. “Someone wants some face time with you before she goes down for her nap..” He pointed at the screen.  
“Oh okay,” Mary Ann said as she approached the laptop to communicate with her granddaughter.  
Adonis looked around. “Ivan can I talk to you outside alone?” He invited him to come with him to the balcony. Ivan nodded and followed.

Adonis waited until he and Ivan were alone and the door closed before he spoke. His voice was firm. “I want you to know Viktor's my friend and because of that I will be nice to you.”  
“Yes,” Ivan said.  
“I will be nice to you but I'm not ready to forgive you” Adonis said. “I did some soul searching about how I felt about you and my Dad. I know you didn't mean to and I know that you felt like he was your enemy but he was also my Dad, the Dad I'll never know. You're here and he's not. I don't hate you anymore but I can't forgive you not yet.”  
Ivan sighed. He didn't expect those feelings to die so quickly. Adonis was young, hot headed, and still missed his father. “I appreciate your honesty, Adonis. If it is consolation, I am not ready to forgive myself.”  
Adonis nodded. He was about to go in but Ivan stood still leaning on the balcony and looking at the world underneath. “You wanna come inside?” Adonis offered begrudgingly.  
“I will wait out here, all same,” Ivan said. Adonis shrugged.  
Ivan looked out the early evening Moscow skyline. Some things were going to take more time than others.

Ivan watched the sunset over Moscow, the place that was once home. Where was his home? Where did he belong? Ivan had been through such an emotional wringer the past few days almost a week. He realized that it wasn't over. He recognized that even though he wanted to live, there was a small part of him that wanted to climb to the top of the balcony and jump off. It would be so easy just to dangle your foot ever so slightly off the edge and let the rest follow. Ivan gingerly placed one foot on the ledge. He was about to put the other one over when he heard the door open.

He turned around to see Rocky. “My opinion last night still stands,” Ivan said gruffly.  
“Not interested,” Rocky countered. “You plannin’ on staying all night out here in the cold?”  
“It's not cold,” Ivan said. “It's -2 degrees out here, is sweltering!”  
“If you say so,” Rocky said doubtfully.  
“Where is Viktor?” Ivan asked.  
“Off with the other kids doing social media Millennials Insta-Face-Twitter-Gram-Book things I don't know.”

Rocky stood next to the ledge. “So Viktor tells me youse grew up here in Moscow.”  
“Need a tour?” Ivan asked dryly.  
“No I thought I'd ask. It's called conversation. Where you talk to get to know someone? Where abouts you grew up?”, Rocky prompted.  
Ivan pointed in the southeast direction. “Over there Kapotnya. From what I understand hasn't changed much. You were either unemployed, criminal, or unemployed criminal.”  
“Sounds familiar,” Rocky said. “So youse get into any fights?”  
“Of course,” Ivan said. “Who did not?”

“I would never have pictured you growin’ up like that like I did,” Rocky said.  
“What exactly did you picture?” Ivan said.  
“Well originally, I though you were created out of some kind of futuristic factory or lab,” Rocky said. Ivan's confused state made him translate. “It was a joke. If I had to think about it, I pictured I dunno you bein’ disciplined a lot maybe an army brat, you know, a kid whose folks were in the military, or something.”  
“Well my father was in Army but was discharged by the time I was old enough to remember, so you are close,” Ivan said. “Discipline came later in the orphanage and then when I joined the Army.”  
He said the last couple of words with a disdain that Rocky caught. “You don't sound happy about being there. I take it you didn't choose to go in.”  
“Balboa,” Ivan said. “When I was growing, no one ask you what you want. You did not choose your life. Your life is chosen for you. Orphans have less options than anyone. Occasionally one may go to University if they were scholar. But for most of us you fit profile and you have orders. Boxing was only thing that made me different made people notice. Everything else was selected but boxing was something I had control over. When I stepped in ring, it was me they looked at not a faceless part of Russia just me.  
Suppose it's different in America.”

“Well most people yeah but where I lived in poor areas was kind of like that,” Rocky said. “The smart ones went to college. The rest of us worked, got drafted, or like you said became criminals. As for me, well I didn't go to college or the military. I worked for a bit but mostly did stuff with loan sharks. It was kind of like that with me and boxing too. I wasn't just some dumb kid of a couple of broke Italian immigrants or crook beating people up to get money for someone else. I was somebody.”  
“You mean you did not go to 'Nahm,” Ivan asked drawing a twang out of the American slang term for Vietnam. “You would be right age.”  
“Yeah but I had a hardship deferment and a criminal record,” Rocky said.”Plus I was already starting to become a boxer. So I wasn't in good medical shape for Uncle Sam neither. I missed out on that fun.”  
“You were very fortunate,” Ivan mumbled.

“So where you going from here?” Rocky asked.  
Ivan shrugged. “I really do not know. There is not much to return to in Kiev. But Moscow is no better.”  
Ivan sighed looking out at Moscow's lights starting to turn on in the evening. “I don't know why we even bother coming back here expecting things are different. They never are.”  
“Hey you're not Communist anymore,” Rocky said with enthusiasm.  
“That means nothing,” Ivan said. “Balboa let me tell you secret. There is no difference between Moscow now, Moscow in 1985, and Moscow in 1992. Probably not in 1917 for all I know. No matter who leads or what they believe some will always be more equal than others.  
I thought coming back here, Viktor and I would be accepted and we find our home but is still the same. They only care when you win. We don't belong here. We don't belong in Kiev, where we are starving stray dogs. We don't belong anywhere.”  
“Maybe you can I dunno try your luck in America?” Rocky suggested.  
Ivan scoffed. “The place where I am thought of only as Apollo Creed's killer? Have that over Viktor's head? It would be too hard to live with reputation and Viktor would suffer stigma. Besides it's not home. We have no home. I thought my home was Russia. Now I don't know where it is.”

Rocky thought about it. “You want my advice?”  
“You will give it whether I say yes,” Ivan smirked.  
Rocky continued. “You know I moved around myself. Not to different countries, or nothin’ but I moved from my old neighborhood in Philly to a mansion, back to the old neighborhood. I was confused like you but one thing I knew that home wasn't the house we lived in or the country. It's the people we live with. Home was wherever Adrian was, and Robert. Heck even where Mickey, Apollo, and Paulie were. For you home is wherever Viktor is.”

“Is not a happy home,” Ivan hung his head. “My fault that it is not.”  
“You know there's still time to change that,” Rocky said.  
Ivan shrugged. “I do not know how. I spent my life hating you and so many others. I don't hate but I don't feel anything now just emptiness. I raised that boy on hatred pushed him for so long until he broke. Yes, he believes it is for his good but that did not make it right. So much that I have to make right and I have been one way for so long that I do not know how to be anyone else.”  
“Come on that ain't true,” Rocky said.  
“You really don't know me well,” Ivan said.

Rocky said. “Look if you were really as hateful as you make yourself out to be would your son love you as much as he does? Would he have gone through as much Hell as he did the other day to keep you from offin’ yourself? What about those buddies of yours Sasha and what's his name-”  
“Sasha was man and Ayzere was woman,” Ivan supplied.  
“Yeah them,” Rocky said. “Sounds like they practically adopted youse. They saw something in ya. You made friends before. You showed you loved that kid before. He clearly knows you love him. You can do it again. In fact I wouldn't mind being your friend.”

Ivan started. “Mine? You remember who I am, yes? The man who killed your friend?”  
“Look we'd been over this,” Rocky said. “I told you I forgave you. Now I'd like to do more wit’ that.”  
“Why?” Ivan asked.  
“'Cause you could use one and so could I,” Rocky said. “There aren't too many people my age left no more and youse been doing everything by yourself. It'd be nice if we helped each other.” He stuck out his hand. “So what do you say?”  
Ivan did not take it. “I am not ready.” Rocky closed his hand. “I am not even sure how to begin with my son. I am out of practice,” Ivan said.  
“So start easy,” Rocky suggested. “ I dunno, go runnin’ with the kid. Don't train him. Train alongside him.”

“It's not easy to just turn off over fifty years of hatred,” Ivan said.  
“So it's gonna to take awhile,” Rocky said. “You got years and I don't think Viktor's goin’ anywhere anytime soon. No one's expectin’ it to be fixed right away, but at least start. Remember Viktor's where your home is. He needs to know that. My son Robert and I call it the home team. You know that's like in baseball when they play a game in their hometown-”  
“- And the local team has the advantage because spectators should cheer for the local athlete,” Ivan said sadly. “I know what it supposed to mean.”  
“Yeah,” Rocky said realizing how awkward that definition was for the Dragos when they had been rejected as the home team not once but twice.

Ivan looked around. “You have no home team.”  
“Well I got Donnie,” Rocky said thumbing at the direction of Adonis and Bianca's room.  
“But those other people you mention are dead and your son is in Vancouver and you do not speak,” he said.  
“That's about it,” Rocky said.  
“Does he know that you are ill?” Ivan asked. Rocky shook his head. “You want my advice?”  
“It's only fair. I gave it to you,” Rocky said.  
“You should go see him,” Ivan suggested. “Both of you live. It is no good to spend your life in the past among the dead. I know this to be true. You go to your son.”  
Rocky lowered his head. “He has a son I never even seen.”  
“Then go see your grandson,” Ivan said. “You say Viktor and I have time but you may not. Robert deserves to know truth about you and your condition. Do not leave Robert hearing worst and wondering what may have been.”  
“Now I'm the one who's not ready,” Rocky said.  
“Then when you return to Philadelphia be ready,” Ivan said. “You helped give Viktor his father back and I thank you. Please do the same for your son.”

Rocky nodded. “You know somethin', you're actually a nice guy.” Ivan smiled. “What?”  
“I don't believe anyone has ever called me 'niyece gai.’” He exaggerated the American slang again that made Rocky laugh.  
“It's about time someone did,” Rocky said. “Think about what I said about your son.”

“And yours,” Ivan agreed. “It will take great change.” A mischievous grin spread across his face. “But 'If I can change and you can change…’”  
“Yeah I get it,” Rocky laughed. “You know I heard someone say that once.”  
“That someone is very smart man,” Ivan said.  
Rocky was touched. “You know you're probably the first person to say that about him.”  
“It's about time someone did,” Ivan repeated.

The next day a group of six headed out of the hotel as four headed for the airport to fly back to America and two headed for the train station to ride back to the Ukraine.  
Viktor hugged Adonis and Bianca as they posed for a selfie. “You have got to come to America to see us!” Bianca said. “I can't wait for Amara to meet her Uncle.”  
“I cannot wait to see her myself,” Viktor said.  
“Yeah you guys will love California,” Adonis teased. “But don't scared when you see that ball of fire. It might confuse you at first but it's called the sun. It's supposed to be in the sky. It brings warmth.”  
Viktor mockingly held his breath at this “marvel.” “I have heard of such things but only saw them in pictures! Is it true that it burns skin if you stay too long?”  
“Always wear sunscreen,” Adonis said imitating a wise guru.  
“He has seen the sun,” Ivan said sarcastically. “July is warm and dry in Ukraine.”  
“Damn I thought we were onto something,” Adonis said.  
“Still I would not mind visiting my friends in Philly and L.A.” Viktor said.  
“He's sounding like a native already,” Bianca said pretending to get choked up.  
Adonis wiped an imaginary tear. The three hugged promising to text, and DM each other.  
Bianca approached Ivan and warmly shook his hand. She then stepped back. There was an awkward moment as Ivan and Adonis stared at each other. But Adonis stuck out his hand. “Good luck, Ivan. Viktor has a good dad.”  
Ivan returned the handshake. “And Apollo has good son, Adonis.” Adonis looked sad for a moment but nodded.

Mary Ann approached Viktor. “You looked at it?” She asked.  
Viktor nodded. “Yes I do not think he will like it but I will talk it over with him in Kiev. But thank you, Bianca, and Raissa for finding it. It seems like good place.”  
He embraced his friend's mother. Mary Ann approached Ivan. “Goodbye, Ivan.”  
They shook hands. “Goodbye Mary Ann,” he said.

Rocky gave Viktor a firm hearty hand grasp as they fell into an embrace. “God what does your old man feed you? No wonder you almost beat Donnie.”  
“Emphasis on almost,” Adonis yelled.  
“Wait until rematch,” Viktor called back. “Goodbye Rocky.”  
“Look after your dad, kid,” Rocky said.  
“I will,” Viktor promised.  
Rocky approached Ivan and stuck his fists out. “To the end, Ivan?”  
Ivan returned the greeting. “To the end Rocky….tovarich...Comrade.”  
Rocky nodded and joined his friends as they left.

“Now you promised,” Viktor said waiting impatiently inside the truck. “If you won, I do something for you. If I win, you do something for me. I beat you fairly and squarely. You are coming with me!”  
Ivan rolled his eyes. It was shortly after their jog. “Maybe you becoming Adonis and Bianca's friend was a mistake. You have become very impudent of late.”  
“Will you just get in?” Viktor asked.  
Ivan rolled his eyes. “Where is this place that I just have to go?”  
“Somewhere that will help you prepare for your next fight,” Viktor said mysteriously.  
“I don't have a fight you know that,” Ivan said.  
“You'll see,” Viktor said. “Now close your eyes.”  
Viktor pulled the truck up to the parking lot. “Okay you can open your eyes now,” he said.  
“I still do not know why you had to go through such dramatics,” Ivan began then he opened his eyes.

The building looked like any other until he read the title: Kiev Counseling Psychiatric Services. “It's the biggest fight you ever fought,” Viktor said. “Ivan Drago vs. Himself.”  
Ivan glared at his son. He at first asked for the keys but Viktor refused. Ivan then opened the passenger seat and stormed out. Viktor followed him. “Take me home right now,” Ivan demanded. He gave him the intimidating stare that in younger years would have made Viktor instantly obey but Viktor was not going to back down. “Nyet! This is for your own good. It's not a hospital like the state ones in Russia. It is just a place where you can talk to somebody. They help with former soldiers and others who have had traumatic experiences. 

It's a good place. I researched it on the Internet and so did Mary Ann and Bianca and a woman at the hospital in Moscow.”  
“You talked about me,” Ivan said.  
Viktor retorted. “Yes the same night when you wandered off to ubey sebya.” Kill yourself. “I had to!”  
“How much does it cost?” Ivan said.  
“Don't worry I paid for it with the money from our matches.”

“You only know this place from the Internet,” Ivan accused. “You don't know what it is really like!”  
“Papa please,” Viktor argued. “I visited the office and spoke to the staff. In fact, I uh well I have been talking to a doctor there myself.”  
“You have been?” Ivan said. “What about?”  
“Different things,” Viktor said. “About myself, about fighting, about you. It's helped.”  
“How has it?” Ivan asked.  
“It's someone else to talk to,” Viktor said. “It’s no different than if I hurt myself I would go see a doctor. They are very kind and helpful.”  
“I am not going to do this tell my problems to.a total stranger,” Ivan argued. He was about to walk off again when Viktor said. “So you rather deal with them alone?” Ivan turned around to face his son. “That's what got you where you were in Moscow, Papa.”

Ivan was about to jump back in the truck but Viktor stood in front..  
“Papa I cannot go through that again,” Viktor said. “You need more help than I can give. Chert poberi, godammit, why are you being so stubborn about this? Are you afraid they might find everything about you? Think you are too weak?”  
“Going to see someone like that makes me weak,” Ivan snapped.  
Viktor shook his head. “Papa no it doesn't. The strong one is the one who seeks help. You cannot do this alone and you won't be. I will be in the waiting room. I will even go into the therapist office if they let me.” Ivan stood still but did not move. Viktor held out his hand. Ivan approached him.  
“You would be with me?” He asked.  
“You don't even have to ask,” Viktor said. Ivan took his son's hand and caught his breath over a very familiar situation. 

“What's the matter Papa?”  
“I just realized that for the first time you remind me of your mother,” Ivan observed. “The certainty, the forcefulness, the things I once loved about her. They're in you.”  
Viktor bristled. “With one big difference.”  
“Which is?” Ivan asked.  
“Unlike her I actually do care about you,” Viktor said. He squeezed his father's hand tightly. “Now come, Papa.”  
Ivan put his other hand on top of his son's as he led him inside. “Alright Vitya.” Ivan Drago smiled as his son led him inside showing the love and support that they always had.

The End

Author's Notes  
1\. There's an inside reference to Ivan and Rocky's War of Curse Words. Viktor says he knows what “vaffanculo” means because he saw The Godfather. The curse word is yelled between Connie Corleone (Talia “Adrian” Shire) and her abusive husband, Carlo. Oddly enough unless I am mistaken I believe Sylvester Stallone auditioned for the part of Carlo which means he and Talia Shire would have played a married couple long before they were Rocky and Adrian though a very dysfunctional unhappily married couple.  
2\. The line “It's _ degrees out here it's sweltering!” Comes from the MST3K episode Jack Frost  
3\. The joke about the ball of flame in the sky called the sun is a running gag in our house when we have several days of rain or snow.


End file.
